#And everything else. It's just less-crowded and awkward here.

[rafecameronssl4t]

can u do dcc!reader x Rafe where they’re both at like an event, obvs reader w the other cheerleaders and Rafe with his other teammates and he sees when a man touches your waist even tho they aren’t allowed to bc of the no touching rule and the security guard doesn’t notice until you tell him to get his hands off of you. maybe the guy even goes up to Rafe to ask for a photo but he’s rude to him bc he was touching her girl

Hands off || nfl player!Rafe Cameron x dcc!reader

A/n: so creative anon! thank you :)

Warnings: unwanted touching from stranger, lil bit of angst at end if you squint

Word count: 1,973

MASTERLIST (nfl!rafe x dcc!reader au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

The "no touch" policy was quite simple: fans were not allowed to touch the cheerleaders. Footballs were brought to every stand and pose event. This gave fans something to hold during photos, making the interaction less awkward and minimising any potential for psychical contact.

Not everyone knew the rule, though, and some would instinctively try to put their arms around the cheerleaders for a photo. Thankfully, security was always on hand, watching and ready to step in, instructing fans to keep their distance.

Over the three years you've been a dcc, you’ve never had a bad experience with this policy. It’s become second nature, and you trust the system. So when you and a few of the other girls arrive at the event, where fans will be meeting you and taking photos, you think little of it.

The familiar buzz of excitement fills the room, and as you scan the crowd, your eyes land on Rafe. He’s on the other side of the room, already engaged in conversation with a fan. A small smile tugs at your lips as you take in his casual outfit: a pair of well-worn jeans, a black shirt that fits him just right, and a green baseball hat.

Before you can admire him any longer, Kelcey pulls you along to start taking photos. The first few interactions go smoothly, with fans smiling as they pose beside you, football in hand. Of course, there are always a few who try to get a little too close, but security is quick to intervene, keeping everything under control.

As you smile for the camera, you’re completely unaware of Rafe’s gaze locked on you from across the room. His eyes trail over your figure, captivated by your appearance. Your radiant smile, the way you carry yourself—everything about you seems to draw him in. He watches intently, his attention fixed solely on you, as if nothing else in the room matters.

“Watcha lookin’ at?” Chris asks, nudging Rafe’s shoulder with a playful grin. He follows Rafe’s line of sight, his curiosity piqued. It doesn’t take long for Chris to figure out what—or rather, who—has captured Rafe’s attention. A knowing smirk spreads across his face as he spots you across the room. “Coach’s daughter, huh?” he chuckles, turning back to Rafe, who still hasn’t torn his eyes away from you.

Chris can’t resist teasing him a bit more. “Heard from a few fans ‘round here that she’s their favourite,” he comments, watching Rafe’s expression carefully. Rafe scoffs, but the amusement is clear in his eyes. “Too bad. It’s not like it’s my name she’s—” “Woah there, bud. Too much info. Jesus,” Chris interrupts with a laugh, shaking his head as he holds up his hands in mock surrender. “I didn’t need to hear all that.”

As Chris walks back to the others, still chuckling to himself, Rafe remains rooted to the spot, his gaze never straying from you. The smirk on his lips only deepens as he watches you, the teasing from Chris barely registering in his mind.

His thoughts are entirely occupied by you—your smile, the way you move, the effortless way you light up the room. Even from across the room, it’s clear that you have a magnetic pull on him, one that he has no desire to resist.

Rafe’s gaze narrows as he notices a man approach you and the other cheerleaders. Even from a distance, it’s clear that this guy’s attention is solely on you. The way he barely acknowledges the others, his focus only really locking on you when it’s his turn for a photo, makes it obvious to anyone paying attention—this man has a particular interest in you.

Rafe watches intently, a sense of unease creeping in as the man lingers around you. Something about him doesn’t sit right. The usual football, meant to occupy fans' hands and prevent unwanted contact, has somehow gone missing, and security is scrambling to find a replacement. In that brief moment of chaos, the man sees his opportunity.

Rafe’s muscles tense as he watches the man discreetly slide his hand around your back. His fingers hover just above your exposed skin, as if hesitating, before finally making contact with your waist and smoothly resting on your hip. It’s a subtle move, but to Rafe, it’s glaringly inappropriate.

His jaw clenches tightly, frustration bubbling up as he realises the sea of fans between you and him would make it impossible to reach you in time. He feels a surge of protectiveness and helplessness all at once.

But then, he notices your reaction. You don’t hesitate—your hand quickly grabs his, pulling it firmly away from your body. Your expression is unreadable from where Rafe stands, but he can see that you’re saying something to the man, your words lost in the noise of the crowd. Fortunately, before the situation escalates further, the security guard steps in. His large frame moves between you and the man, effectively blocking any further contact.

Rafe exhales, tension still coiled in his muscles, but relieved that you handled the situation with the confidence and poise he’s come to admire in you. Even from across the room, he can see that you’re okay, but that doesn’t stop the protective instinct from simmering just beneath the surface.

~

The moment you make eye contact with the fan, a strange vibe settles over you. There’s something off about the way he looks at you, his gaze intense and fixated. Still, you smile at him, greeting him politely even as he barely acknowledges the other girls.

His focus is entirely on you, and you can feel the discomfort creeping in. A quick glance at Kelcey and Reece confirms they feel it too, their eyes mirroring your unease. "Hi, how are you?" you ask, maintaining your practiced smile as the man approaches. You guide him to the center, between you and Kelcey, trying to keep things professional.

"I'm so great," he replies, grinning at you in a way that makes your skin crawl. You nod, forcing a smile, though the unease gnaws at you. "You're even more gorgeous up close," he comments, his voice laced with something that makes you nervously chuckle.

"Thank you..." you reply, your voice trailing off as you notice the security guards in conversation. Concern flickers in your eyes, and you glance at Kelcey for confirmation. "They lost the football," she whispers, and you nod in understanding, trying to keep your composure.

"Did the other guy maybe take it with him—" Before you can finish your sentence, you feel it—a hand sliding onto your waist, then resting on your hip bone. Your body tenses, and without hesitation, you step away, firmly pulling his hand off of you.

"Please do not touch me," you say, your voice steady and commanding. The firmness of your tone catches the attention of everyone around you. The man’s bravado crumbles in an instant, replaced by nervousness as all eyes turn on him. "I didn’t mean to—sorry," he stammers, but the lie is obvious, his excuse flimsy.

You narrow your eyes slightly, your patience wearing thin. "You didn’t mean to feel up my waist and hip?" you challenge, your voice tinged with defensiveness. Before the situation can escalate further, a security guard steps in, his imposing presence effectively cutting off the interaction.

"Okay, that’s enough," the guard says firmly, positioning himself between you and the man. "Sir, were you aware that there is a strictly no-touching rule when it comes to taking pictures with the cheerleaders?" The man gulps, his earlier confidence evaporating. "No—no, I had no idea—"

The guard raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "You’re telling me you haven’t seen the signs that are everywhere informing you about this?" His tone leaves no room for argument. "Move along, please," the guard instructs, gesturing with a dismissive wave of his hand. As the man sheepishly slinks away, the guard turns to you, his voice softening. "Miss, are you okay?"

You nod, your pulse still racing but your composure intact. "I’m fine, thank you," you reply, your voice steady. Kelcey and Reece quickly move to your side, their concern evident as they guide you away from the scene.

"Let’s get to the changing rooms," Kelcey murmurs, her arm around your shoulder as the next group of cheerleaders takes over. You allow yourself to be led away, grateful for the support, but also determined not to let the incident shake you.

~

Rafe watches intently as you disappear from view with the other girls, a tightness in his chest gradually loosening as you’re led safely away. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, turning back to face the next round of fans lining up for pictures. His mind is still half on you, replaying the scene over in his head, but he forces himself to focus on the task at hand.

A few more fans pass by, offering handshakes and snapping photos, but then something catches Rafe’s eye—a familiar face in the crowd. It’s him. The same guy who had touched you earlier. Rafe’s entire body stiffens, his muscles tensing as a wave of anger surges through him.

His glare sharpens, eyes narrowing on the man who seems completely oblivious to the fury directed his way. The guy casually makes his way down the line of players, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries, utterly unaware of the storm brewing in Rafe’s eyes.

When the man finally reaches Rafe, he extends his hand with the same nonchalant attitude, expecting another casual greeting. But Rafe has no intention of letting this slide. He grasps the man’s hand in a firm, vice-like grip, squeezing just hard enough to send a clear message.

The man’s expression shifts from easygoing to startled as he looks up at Rafe, his brows furrowing in confusion. Rafe meets his gaze head-on, his eyes cold and unyielding. There’s no need for words; the intensity of Rafe’s stare says it all. The man fidgets slightly, trying to mask his discomfort, but it’s clear he’s rattled by the unexpected show of strength and the silent warning in Rafe’s eyes.

The handshake lingers a beat too long, the tension thick in the air, before the man awkwardly pulls his hand back, mumbling something under his breath as he moves on to the next player. Rafe watches him go, his jaw still clenched. He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to relax, but the anger simmering beneath the surface remains.

When it came time for the group photo, Rafe made sure his smile was practiced, not genuine, his eyes cold as the man stood at the center of the group. The man's audacity to remain at the event after what he had done gnawed at Rafe, his mind replaying the earlier scene with a growing sense of disbelief and anger.

As soon as the photo was taken and the man left, Rafe rolled his eyes and shook his head, barely able to contain his frustration. "I need to take five. Gotta hit the bathroom," Rafe said to the event coordinator, his tone controlled but urgent. "Yeah, sure, go ahead," she replied, barely glancing up as she continued to redirect the flow of fans.

Without wasting another second, Rafe made his way to the girls' changing room, his heart pounding with concern. He knocked in a familiar rhythmic pattern, the signal you both had used before to let each other know it was safe to open up.

You opened the door, and before you could say a word, Rafe swept you off your feet, pulling you into a tight embrace. The door clicked shut behind him as he nudged it closed with his foot, his arms wrapping around you protectively. The tension you’d been holding onto melted away the moment you felt his warmth, your own arms sliding around his waist.

"I saw what happened," he murmured against your hair, his voice soft but filled with concern. "You okay?" You let out a shaky breath, your face buried in his chest as you absorbed the comfort he offered. "Not really," you admitted quietly, the vulnerability in your voice evident. "But I'll be fine."

Rafe’s arms tightened around you, his grip steady and reassuring. He didn’t say anything, just held you close, letting the silence speak for the care he felt. He knew you were strong, that you could handle yourself, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to shield you from every bad moment, every unsettling experience. He couldn’t change what had happened, but he could be there for you now, and that was enough.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, just holding onto each other as the world outside faded into the background. Rafe’s presence was a balm to your frayed nerves, grounding you in a way that made the fear and unease dissipate, if only for a little while.

Finally, Rafe leaned back just enough to look at you, his hand gently cupping your face. "If you need anything, you tell me, alright? You don’t have to go through this alone." You nodded, your heart swelling with gratitude. "Thank you, Rafe. I’m glad you’re here."

His gaze softened, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. "Always," he whispered, the promise clear in his voice.

[with-my-calamitous-love]

CARVE YOUR NAME INTO MY BEDPOST / MIGHT AS WELL BE DRUNK IN LOVE

shouto todoroki x f! reader

at a work party gone wrong, shouto finds a secret moment with you amongst the crowd.

smut! you are responsible for what you read!

inspired by dress + slut!

it was hard to find secret moments in a crowded room.

shouto todoroki, now japan’s #2 hero and possibly one of the most famous men in the nation, was loved everywhere. he was handsome, and just socially awkward enough to be charming. he was the topic of most headlines and gossip tabloids these days- and the press thought the knew everything about him. a 22-year old male capricorn, the youngest sibling and a top ranking graduate of UA high school.

one thing shouto relished in, secretly, was that no one had any idea about you and him.

and its not like they made it particularly easy for him.

like now.

shouto came to this event dressed in a sleek black tie and all eyes on him. at this point, he had grown somewhat used to it. he’d you, his wife, by his side. you’d squeeze his hand 3 times everytime you felt his anxiety flare up, especially when the lights began flashing and the familiar clicks of the reporters came about.

at first, he could handle it. just smile, nod, and let the world watch him act. its what he did for most of his life, anyway.

“shouto! are you still maintaining a relationship with your father?”

“shouto! over here!”

“is it true you and your wife want to raise your first child as a hero?”

“can you tell us about your marriage?”

“are you trying to be more like your father these days?”

“how is your family coping with everything thats happened?”

“shouto! what can you tell us about touya todoroki?”

it was starting to grate on him.

he felt the sweat trickle down his forehead at the constant questions. his fists clenched, wanting to shut off all the noise. they had put him and his family through enough, yet they still looked for more stories and more gossip.

he did his best to answer all the questions, taking a deep breath and disassociating like his PR team had told him to do. he was handling it, up until he couldn’t find you through the crowd.

his blurry and hazed eyes scan the room, looking for you and where you might have gone. the air suddenly began to thin, the years of anxiety and inadequacy beginning to build up at the back of his throat. worst of all, you weren’t there to help him ground himself. he was lost in a sea of people, and none of them were you.

luckily, someone else was there to step in.

“OI! BACK OFF FOR ONCE!”

a familiar blonde barks, much to the relief of shouto. after all, pro-hero dynamight had just as much respect as shouto, and the media was more or less used to his abrasiveness.

he lets out a sigh of relief as most of the reporters and fans take a step back, allowing him and bakugou to escape to different corner of the room. the #1 hero immediately senses something is wrong, specifically the fact that you weren’t with your husband.

“the press getting to you?” the blonde asks, his usual dick-bag self being suppressed to help his ‘friend.’

shouto nods, and bakugou sighs sympathetically. even someone like him, who relished in the fame and praise of being hero, understood the mistreatment shouto had experienced all his life. he saw how that mistreatment was only amplified when the public got involved.

“wheres [y/n]?” he asks, red eyes scanning the room for any sign of you. shouto does the same, like a boy in the sea searching for a raft.

bakugou rolls his eyes, deciding he’ll be the hero. “go look for her. i’ll keep them off your back.” he says, turning back to the media frenzy and adjusting his tie, ready to give them what they want. “but you owe me one, icyhot.”

with one manly pat on the back, bakugou walks back out to the crowd, giving shouto a chance of peace.

he immediately opens some door to a room. its some fancy, pompous washroom only the rich could afford. the size of it could it a family, if it wanted to.

but he didn’t care about the lavish architecture. he cared about the way his heart calmed down at the sight of you, sitting on the counter.

“hey.” he walks over to you, sitting next to you and taking your hand. you immediately note his anxiety, evident by the dryness of his throat. theres guilt that creeps into your throat once you realize you left him all alone.

“hey, sho.” you say, immediately taking his hand in yours.

“i lost track of you in the crowd. are you okay, love?” he asks, bi-coloured eyes staring at you with nothing but love. you squeeze his hand in reassurance.

“i’m okay.” you say, chuckling awkwardly. “just, you know… parties.”

he nods sympathetically, understanding how neither of you were particularly fans of big crowds. his gaze flickers over to the washroom door for a moment, making sure the door is locked.

“are you okay, though? those reporters out there were down your throat.” you ask, watching as his expression darkens slightly. from just outside the washroom, the sounds of partygoers can still be heard loud and clear.

he boy sighs, the stress of the media's questioning weighing on him. he appreciates your concern immediately, and he knows he can at least be honest with you.

"it was...a lot," he admits, running a hand through his hair. "they kept asking about my family, and about the you...and i just feel like they're trying to get a reaction out of me."

you nod, understanding his frustrations. you’re quick to validate his worries. “thats exactly what they’re trying to do. they’ll profit off of anything.”

shouto knows that to be completely true.

after the news of endeavour’s abuse towards his family (specifically his firstborn son) came out, shouto felt as though him and his entire family had been engulfed in flames. he soon learned that the paparazzi will do anything for a story. the more you fall apart, the more they’ll flash their camera’s and take notes of your pain.

it seems despite his valiant efforts to get out from his fathers shadow, theres still people that won’t let him forget it.

as if you two share a psychic connection, you can immediately sense whats on his mind. his pain is yours too, and it kills you knowing that there not much you can do to stop it. “i remember when they got a hold of your family story. they took the years of abuse and made money off of it.” you scoff. “its disgusting.”

he feels a pang of anger and disgust at the memory of the media's handling of his family history. he can still remember the way they had twisted and distorted the truth, using it for clickbait headlines and sensationalized stories. it had been traumatic and painful, and they had made it all seem like entertainment.

"it is," he agrees, his voice filled with irritation. “they had no right to turn our lives into a spectacle for their profit. it made me sick.”

you sigh, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “so much talk about your father these days… i can’t imagine what you’re going through right now.”

shouto ruminates for a second, looking down at his own lap. being young is art, in its own twisted way. being famous means constantly being reminded of what hurts you the most. for shouto, that was the fear that he would one day resemble his father.

they loved to think he’d never forget.

the constant discussion and speculation about his father's actions and legacy has been weighing heavily on him, and he's been trying to distance himself from it as much as he possibly can.

"it’s been...difficult," he admits quietly, looking down at your intertwined hands. “i know who my father was, and what he did, but i feel like everyone is always waiting for me to do the same. like… they're just waiting for me to make a mistake so they can say 'see? you’re just like your father after all.'"

his voice cracks slightly at that last part.

you shake your head valiantly, cupping his face and making sure he’s looking at you. the only other sound that can be heard in the room are the quiet drips from the sink. otherwise, you and shouto managed to drown out the noises from the party. all that mattered was the two of you, together, as if you were in a snow globe.

“shoto, listen. you aren’t your father. you’re so much more. i know the man i fell in love with. i know him because he’s twice the man he came from. he’s kind, and strong, and everything his father wasn’t.”

at that moment, shouto thinks: what if all he needs is you?

“thank you.” he whispers, pressing his forehead against yours. “i needed that.”

you easily reciprocate, feeling his warmth and all that makes him him.

“it’s everything that made you.” you whisper. “all that pain and all that suffering you went through… it made you the man i fell for. all those dead end streets led you to me.” you smile.

with that, he feels truly at peace. if all that suffering led him to you, he’s consider it worth it. he’ll pay the price and you won’t, as long as it means he can love you.

without a word, he leans in to kiss you. his lips fit on yours like the universe especially crafted you two for each other. nothing else matters right now. all of that pining and anticipation, his hands shake from holding back this entire night. he’s desperately waiting to love you, and show you how much he does.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚

theres indentations of shouto all over you.

first, your head. because he’s all you think about. his jokes, his smile, and the way he makes you feel.

second, your heart. he never wanted you like a best friend. half the time, he dresses up just so he can feel your hands remove the fabric from his muscles, kissing every patch of exposed skin possible.

third, in between your thighs. literally, because he’s on his knees, head between your legs and pressing his soft lips against your clit. he could carve his name onto your skin if he wanted to, and you’d probably let him.

one of your hands press against your mouth, trying to silence the urges to cry out for him. he looks so fucking gorgeous right now, his tie undone and shirt just unbuttoned enough to show off his muscles. his abs are covered in kiss marks leftover from your lipstsick- a finishing touch to an already beautiful masterpiece.

he’s tugged your panties all the way off, and pushed your dress high enough to give him access. he was salivating just thinking about getting between your legs, tasting you and letting you cum in his mouth.

you tug at his hair in fistfuls, urging to give you the orgasm you need. his eyes are closed, focusing solely on the way his tongue swirls around you. his mouth and chin glisten from all of it, and he’s doing this for his pleasure just as much as yours.

the way you moan makes him tighten his grip on your hips, ever so slightly increasing his pace. he chuckles to himself, acknowledging the effect he has on you. the vibrations of his voice and warm breath pushing against your already pulsing core sends a shiver down your spine.

“careful, love.” he whispers, only pulling away from you slightly. “wouldn’t want anyone to find us, hm?”

“i know.” you whimper. “fuck, just don’t stop.”

he happily obliges.

“good girl.” he whispers, his tongue slowly circling the bundle of nerves in a messy pattern. his tongue moves in a maddening pace, sending brain-melting waves of pleasure to you.

the ecstasy is inescapable, and you’re not even gonna try. this was your secret. those people out there, that thought they had you and your husband figured out, had no idea what was actually going on right now.

you’re his one and only, his lifeline. forever, he wants to wake up by your side. you’re the only person who makes his hand shake and heart beat despite all the pain he’s gone through.

“say my name.” he says, looking up at you.

“shouto!”

and everything just stops.

he’s lovesick, all over his face. his tongue blessedly picks up the pace, not daring to stop for even a second. you’re lovelorn and nobody knows. everyone wants him, and thats your crime. you silently cry out, head throwing back while you feel that not in your abdomen slowly begin to unwind. he guides you threw it, making you cum from nothing but his mouth.

and when you do cum, he takes it all happily. because in a world of boys, he’s a gentleman.

the two of you were all dressed up- they may as well be looking. shouto came to that party with a sleek black tie, and left without it. he only bought it for you to take it off.

tags! 🫧

@crushmeeren @whenanafallsinlove @bbluefllame @satirediary

p.s i don’t normally write smut so i have no idea if this is good or not 🥹 thank you for reading!

[cup1drul3z]

★ — That's MY girl | CH 2

5.5ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ | ᴄᴇᴏ!ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

CW : Age gap if you squint, PLUS SIZED READER, power kink, cheating, modern au, new york, assistant reader, readers a little awkward but we love her anyway, sugar mommy, SMUT, fingering, cunninglings, strap, bondage, lingerie

A/N : guys im working on the stalker fic trust

The train ride home feels longer than it should.

You sit near the back, the car mostly empty, lights flickering overhead like they can’t decide whether to stay on or just give up. Your reflection stares back at you in the darkened window—smudged lipstick, swollen lips, collar slightly crooked, and that unmistakable shadow just below your jawline.

You touch it.

The spot Sevika’s mouth lingered.

Your stomach twists.

You shouldn’t have done it. You knew that the second you left the bar. But it doesn’t erase the memory of her hands on your body. The way your name sounded in her mouth. The way you wanted it. Craved it.

You close your eyes and grip the subway pole tighter. It doesn't help. The shame is thick and sour, crawling over your skin like something alive.

By the time you get to your stop, the guilt is louder than your footsteps.

Your apartment is dark when you unlock the door. One flickering lamp lights the living room, the faint buzz of the TV still running. Your boyfriend is half-asleep on the couch, blanket around his legs, a takeout box resting on the armrest beside him.

He stirs when the door clicks shut.

“Where the hell were you?” he mumbles, rubbing his face. “You said you were going for drinks. That was, like, four hours ago.”

Your heart skips. “Sorry. I lost track of time. First day stuff... they wanted to celebrate.”

He stares at you for a second too long, and your pulse races. You shift your hair slightly, trying to angle it over the mark Sevika left.

But he doesn’t notice.

Instead, he sits up, arms outstretched with a sleepy groan. “Come here.”

You hesitate.

Just for a second.

Then you cross the room and let him pull you into his arms, the warmth of his chest unfamiliar tonight. He presses a kiss to your cheek, then your lips. It’s slow. Familiar. Comfortable in a way that used to feel like love.

But now?

Now it just feels like lying.

“You smell good,” he mumbles into your hair. “Glad you had fun.”

You force a small laugh. “Yeah... me too.”

You close your eyes and let him hold you like nothing’s changed.

But everything has.

And deep down, you know it’s only a matter of time before this cracks wide open.

You woke up early.

Too early.

The kind of early where the light coming in through your blinds made everything look soft and blue, and the guilt still sat heavy in your chest like you'd swallowed a stone. But instead of spiraling, you did something else—rummaged through your closet.

You wanted to feel like you today.

So you slipped into a soft grey vest, something a little snug across the chest but not suffocating. The short-sleeved collared shirt underneath is crisp, clean. Paired with your flowy black maxi skirt, it moves with you—comfortable, confident, a little vintage librarian if you squint.

You check the mirror once, twice. It doesn’t scream “corporate,” but you don’t care.

For once, you feel good. Or at least better.

The train is less crowded this morning. You grab a seat near the back, setting your bag down beside you. You're flipping through your phone when someone plops down across from you with zero warning.

“Damn, girl. You look adorable.”

You glance up—Jinx.

Same wild blue braids, oversized bomber jacket, mismatched socks in loafers. She’s sipping an iced coffee the size of her head and looks like she hasn’t slept but somehow still radiates energy.

You smile. “Thanks. Closet panic. I didn’t want to pop a button again.”

Jinx snorts. “Honestly? Respect. You survived a boardroom and Sevika’s death stare. You deserve a little wardrobe crisis.”

You laugh, and she leans in like she’s about to let you in on a secret.

“Okay, so—there’s this cocktail thing in a few days. Fancy company event. Everyone’s invited, assistants too.”

You nod, eyebrows raised. “That sounds... terrifying.”

“Oh, it is.” she grins. “Dress code, open bar, people trying to pretend they’re more important than they are—it’s a blast. You coming?”

“I guess I have to now,” you say with a smile, then add, “Do we bring plus-ones?”

Jinx nods. “Yeah. They want it to feel ‘socially enriched’ or whatever PR bullshit they said in the email. You bringing your guy?”

Your stomach flips.

You hesitate just long enough for her to notice, but not long enough for her to comment.

“Yeah,” you say finally. “Probably.”

Jinx sips her coffee, watching you. “Cool. We’ll all be there, and a few other people aswell”

You nod slowly 

She leans back. “And Sevika usually shows up late. Quiet. Broody. Like Batman if Batman was hotter and more emotionally repressed.”

You choke on your breath a little, but cover it with a laugh.

Jinx just grins at you.

“See you in the office, cutie.”

She gets off at the next stop, waving as she goes. 

You sit back in your seat, suddenly very aware of what this cocktail party could mean.

And how complicated things are about to get.

You spend most of the morning pretending to work while actively avoiding eye contact with Sevika’s closed office door.

Every time you glance that way, your stomach flips. You’re sure she’s stewing in there—probably plotting your firing or worse, treating you like you’re invisible. That would almost be easier.

So when your desk phone buzzes with a message: “Come in.” —your blood turns to ice.

You stand, straighten your vest, and try to breathe like a normal human as you push open the door.

Sevika’s at her desk, sleeves rolled, shirt unbuttoned just enough to show that same stretch of ink. She’s leaning back in her chair, boots crossed at the ankle, like nothing in the world could touch her.

Except her eyes are locked on you the second you step inside.

You swallow. “You wanted to see me?”

She nods toward the door behind you. “Close it.”

Your hand hovers on the knob for a second too long, but you do it.

The soft click feels like a trap.

“I figured you’d be crawling out of your skin all day,” she says, tone casual, almost amused. “Relax. I’m not mad.”

You blink. “You’re not?”

A grin tugs at the corner of her mouth. “Why would I be mad? You practically came all over my hand last night.”

You flinch. “Sevika—”

“No one made you moan my name,” she continues, rising from her chair. “Don’t act like it wasn’t the best part of your week.”

She’s in front of you now, close again—too close. You take a step back, but she follows, always one breath away from pinning you to the wall.

“I told you I shouldn’t have,” you say, voice tight. “It was a mistake. I was drunk.”

“You were wet,” she counters, low and dangerous. “There’s a difference.”

Your mouth opens—no words. Just heat crawling up your throat.

“I can give you better,” she murmurs, eyes dark and slow-burning. “You don’t owe him loyalty just because you’re scared of being alone.”

You shake your head. “It’s not like that.”

Sevika scoffs. “You keep saying that. But you don’t look convinced.”

Then, before you can stop her, she drops to her knees.

Right there.

Her hands find your hips, grip firm and sure through the fabric of your skirt. She looks up at you, and something in your chest stutters.

“Tell me to stop,” she says, voice husky, lips inches from your waistband. “Mean it.”

You should. You really should.

But your hands stay at your sides, frozen.

You don’t push her away.

You don’t even move.

Then—

“Sevika, do you—”

The door opens.

Mel freezes in the doorway, one brow raised, her perfect blazer catching the light. Her eyes flick from Sevika on her knees to you, cheeks flushed, mouth parted.

Sevika doesn’t flinch.

Mel slowly, slowly shuts the door behind her without looking away.

The second Mel shuts the door, Sevika finally rises to her feet—slowly, deliberately, like she’s still not embarrassed. You’re the one left trembling.

But you don’t stay.

You don’t even think. You just move.

You throw open the office door and bolt into the hallway, nearly running over someone from accounting. Your skirt swishes around your ankles as you spot Mel turning the corner toward the elevators.

“Mel! Mel, wait—”

She doesn’t stop immediately, but you catch up, heels clicking against the tile in rapid panic.

“Please,” you gasp, breath catching as you reach her. “Please don’t tell anyone. It wasn’t—nothing even happened—”

Mel finally stops and turns, folding her arms across her chest. Her expression isn’t cold. It isn’t angry either. It’s… tired. Complicated.

“I won’t say anything,” she says, voice soft. “You have my word.”

You breathe out a shaky sigh, your shoulders sagging with relief.

“But,” she continues, “you should know... people already talk.”

Your blood chills. “What do you mean?”

Mel looks at you with something like pity. “This office? It's a glass box. Everyone sees everything. You think they didn’t notice Sevika acting different yesterday? You leaving early? That mark on your neck?”

Your hand instinctively rises to cover it.

“I didn’t mean for anything to happen—” you start, voice cracking.

“I know,” Mel cuts in gently. “But it doesn’t matter. In a place like this, rumors grow faster than promotions. All it takes is one glance. One smirk. One flushed face in the hallway.”

You look down, shame crawling up your spine.

Mel sighs and softens, placing a hand on your arm. “You’re not the first. And you’re not stupid. But Sevika… she’s not simple. Being close to her never is.”

You swallow hard. “So what do I do?”

Mel lets her hand fall back to her side.

“Be careful,” she says. “With her. With you. Because whether you meant to or not… you're in it now.”

Then the elevator dings, and she steps inside, leaving you standing in the hallway alone, the weight of your choices settling in your bones like concrete.

And for the first time, you’re not sure if you’re more afraid of losing your job—

—or losing yourself to Sevika again.

You wait outside her office for a long time.

Long enough that your nerves start to feel less like panic and more like a low, buzzing ache under your skin. The adrenaline is gone. All that’s left is the shame. The guilt. And the heat of her touch still ghosting your hips.

You finally knock, just once.

“Come in.”

Sevika’s voice is calm. Cool. Like nothing happened.

You step in slowly, shutting the door behind you. She’s at her desk, one arm resting lazily on the surface, the other tapping a pen against a manila folder. Her eyes flick up when you enter but don’t linger.

“I talked to Mel.”

“Obviously,” she mutters.

You take a few steps closer, but not too close.

“I’m serious this time,” you say, voice steady despite the tightness in your chest. “You have to stop. No more flirting. No more… whatever that was. I made a mistake, and I’m staying with my boyfriend. I’m not doing this again.”

Sevika raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t argue. She just leans back in her chair, gaze unreadable. “Fine.”

You blink. “...Seriously?”

“Yeah.” She shrugs. “You’re not the first girl to pretend it didn’t mean anything.”

Your stomach sinks. “That’s not what I—”

She cuts you off by opening a drawer and sliding a white envelope across the desk toward you.

You eye it like it might bite you.

“What’s that?”

“For the tights,” she says dryly. “You ripped them last night. And your blouse looked like it was about to quit during the meeting.”

You don’t move. “I don’t need pity money.”

Sevika sighs through her nose, annoyed. “It’s not pity, sweetheart. It’s compensation. You work for me. You’re supposed to look like you belong here.”

You hesitate. Then pick up the envelope and peek inside.

Cash.

Too much. Way too much.

This is not “replace your tights” money. This is “rent for two months” money. Or “disappear into another city and start over” money.

Your heart jumps into your throat. “This is insane.”

Sevika stands slowly, pushing her chair back as she walks around the desk—measured, controlled, still a storm beneath her skin.

“I don’t give people what they deserve,” she says, voice low, “I give them what I want to give. And I want you dressed like someone who knows her worth.”

You meet her eyes, and for a split second, you almost say something.

But you just nod. “Thanks.”

She nods back, then gestures toward the door. “You should get back to your desk.”

You turn to leave—but her voice stops you just before you open the door.

“You looked good today,” she murmurs, softer this time. “Comfort suits you.”

You don’t look back.

You just walk out, envelope clutched in your hand like a secret you’re not sure what to do with.

It’s your day off.

For once, you’re not rushing to get dressed or worrying about whether your shirt will survive a full workday. You're in comfy leggings, a tank top and a black jacket, your hair is messy and you look like you just rolled out of bed even if you did try to brush it a little. No makeup, no heels, just you and a half-empty shopping cart that doesn’t squeak when you push it.

For the first time in a long time, grocery shopping feels... nice.

You grab the name-brand mac and cheese without flinching. The good almond milk. Even a little candle from the home aisle, because screw it—you deserve soft lighting and lavender.

You’re halfway through comparing peanut butter prices when you feel it.

That shift in the air. That weird, subtle gravity that tugs at you, makes the back of your neck prickle.

You glance up.

And there she is.

Sevika.

In Target.

Wearing a long, wool coat that probably costs more than everything in your cart. Her hair’s tied back again, sunglasses pushed up onto her head, dark slacks and a fitted top that absolutely do not belong between rows of laundry detergent and Pop-Tarts. She’s pushing a red basket like it personally offended her.

You blink. Once. Twice.

She spots you.

And smirks.

You panic and pretend to read the back of a Nutella jar. Real smooth.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” she drawls as she approaches, voice low and vaguely amused.

You force a smile, pushing your cart an inch forward. “I could say the same. You don’t really strike me as the ‘bullseye deals’ type.”

She glances into your cart. “Treating yourself?”

You shrug. “Using my pity money wisely.”

That earns a sharp laugh from her—short, real.

“Still mad?”

“No,” you admit. “Just trying to feel normal for a minute.”

Sevika’s eyes linger on you. The oversized hoodie. The way your hair’s all loose and soft and you. Not Corporate You. Just You.

“I like this version,” she says, voice softer now. “You’re real like this.”

You hesitate, cart between you like a shield. “You stalking me?”

“Coincidence,” she shrugs. “Or fate, if you're feeling dramatic.”

You roll your eyes, but it’s half a smile. “You here for snacks or a personality transplant?”

“Neither,” she says, grabbing a box of granola bars and tossing them into her basket like it’s a power move. “Just needed trash bags.”

You stare at her.

“You’re too rich to take out your own trash.”

“I didn’t say they were for me,” she says, already turning toward the next aisle. “See you Friday, sweetheart.”

She disappears between frozen pizzas and Lean Cuisines, and you’re left standing there, heart weirdly fast, fingers gripping the handle of your cart a little too tight.

You sigh.

Of course Sevika looks good at Target.

You drop your groceries off at the apartment, still feeling Sevika’s smirk lingering somewhere in your ribs. Your boyfriend’s out—left a note about going to a friend’s place. You don’t think twice about it. You text Caitlyn.

You still down for coffee? I need your face and your moral compass. Bad.

She texts back almost immediately.

On my way. My treat. You’re getting the giant muffin too.

The café is cozy, tucked between a laundromat and a bookstore that’s always closed for “inventory.” The barista already knows your order—large iced caramel something, extra whipped cream—and Caitlyn’s sipping black coffee like her soul depends on it.

You take the first sip and finally exhale like you haven’t all day.

“So,” Caitlyn says, crossing her legs. “What’s this about a moral crisis?”

You bite your straw, unsure how to even begin.

“I… did something stupid.”

Her brows lift just slightly. “Define ‘stupid.’ Like, crash-your-ex’s-wedding stupid, or get-back-with-your-ex stupid?”

You look down at your drink.

Then say it.

“I slept with my boss.”

Caitlyn blinks. Slowly. Then takes the most dramatic sip of coffee you’ve ever seen.

You brace for it. The judgment. The disappointment. Anything.

But all she says is, “Well. That’s very ‘HBO original series’ of you.”

You stare. “Caitlyn—”

“I mean, I knew your life was messy,” she adds, leaning back. “But this is next level. I’m impressed.”

“Caitlyn.”

She softens immediately, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand.

“Hey. I’m on your side, remember? Always.”

Your throat tightens. “Even if I’m a home-wrecking, morally compromised disaster?”

“Especially then,” she says, giving you that rare smile—the real one, not the sarcastic smirk she gives annoying people at parties. “You needed something. You got it. And now we figure out what you’re gonna do next.”

“I’m staying with him,” you say quietly. “My boyfriend. I told her it was a mistake.”

Caitlyn’s eyes flick down. She doesn’t argue. Doesn’t say what you already know she’s thinking.

Instead: “Do you want to stay with him?”

You don’t answer right away.

She doesn’t push.

She just leans back, sipping her coffee again, eyes soft.

“Whatever you decide,” she says, “I’ll be here. To support you.”

You laugh—sharp and real and just a little broken.

She clinks her coffee cup against your plastic lid. “You’re not alone in this.”

The boutique Caitlyn drags you to is one of those clean, Pinterest-board-looking places with neutral walls, racks spaced perfectly apart, and a woman at the front desk who gives you complimentary cucumber water just for walking in.

You’re overwhelmed within five seconds.

Caitlyn, of course, is thriving.

“Okay,” she says, already flipping through hangers like a pro. “We want business casual, but comfy. Professional, but still you. So no more button-downs that look like they’re losing a fight with your chest, got it?”

You laugh. “Okay, okay. Deal.”

She hands you a soft sage green blouse with fluttery sleeves and a pair of black wide-leg pants that feel like pajamas but somehow look expensive.

You try them on.

You twirl a little in the mirror.

You look… good.

“You look hot,” Caitlyn says from outside the changing room, leaning dramatically against the door. “Hot and employed.”

You snort. “High praise.”

You walk out and grab another outfit—a soft cream cardigan, a fitted tank underneath, and a midi skirt with a tiny floral pattern. Comfortable. Confident. Something you can actually breathe in.

“Perfect,” Caitlyn says, nodding like a fashion judge. “Now…”

She pulls a black dress from the rack like a magician revealing her final trick.

It’s sleek. Short. A body-con that hugs all the right places with subtle ruching at the waist and a square neckline that’s flirty but still tasteful.

“This,” she says, “is the dress. Cocktail party. Show up. Make Your mark on that place..i mean if you haven't already for disappearing into the bathroom with the ceo”

You take it from her carefully, the fabric silky between your fingers.

“Cait,” you say, holding it up. “It’s… tight.”

She smirks. “And you’ve got a body worth showing off. Let her choke on it.”

You laugh, pressing the dress to your chest. “Okay, fine. This is the one.”

You don’t tell her how your heart races imagining Sevika seeing you in it.

You don’t have to.

Caitlyn sees the look in your eyes and just nods.

“You’ve got this.”

The suit hangs on the back of the bedroom door, still in its garment bag, untouched.

You’d picked it out yesterday. A simple black two-piece, nothing too flashy. Just… clean. Respectable. It felt like the least you could do—if you were dragging him into this cocktail party, you might as well make sure he looked like he belonged.

He didn’t even say thank you.

Now it’s the morning before the event. You’re moving around the apartment, folding laundry, fixing your hair into a loose ponytail, pretending everything is fine.

He leans in the doorway, yawning. Shirtless. Watching you with that sleepy grin he used to wear back when things felt simple.

“You know,” he says, walking over and sliding his hands around your waist, “we’ve got a little time before you head out for that pre-party work stuff…”

His lips brush your neck, warm and familiar. One hand starts to slip beneath your shirt.

Your stomach drops.

The familiar twist of guilt and disinterest coils tight in your gut. His touch feels wrong now—not cruel, not mean… just wrong.

You grab his hand gently and pull it away. “Not right now. I’m—uh—cramping.”

He pauses, eyes narrowing for a second. Then he sighs and steps back, not pushing, but clearly annoyed.

“Figures,” he mutters. “You’ve been weird lately.”

You force a tight smile. “I’ve just been tired. Work's been a lot.”

He shrugs and grabs his phone off the nightstand. “Alright, whatever. Just don’t forget we’ve got that thing tonight.”

“I won’t,” you say, already turning back to fold the same T-shirt you’ve touched three times.

He leaves the room.

You exhale slowly, your hands trembling just slightly.

The suit still hangs untouched.

And the black dress waits folded in tissue paper inside a boutique bag.

The venue is stunning—soft golden lighting, live jazz humming in the background, servers floating past with sparkling flutes and tiny hors d'oeuvres that look like food for rich fairies.

You walk in on your boyfriend’s arm, your black body-con dress hugging you just right. You feel the eyes on you as you enter—and for once, you don’t shrink under them.

You own it.

Your boyfriend doesn’t comment on the way heads turn. Doesn’t even notice. He’s too busy adjusting his tie and checking his reflection in every polished surface like he invented being mediocre in a suit.

You’re halfway into your second awkward sip of chardonnay when you feel her.

Sevika.

She walks in like the floor was laid out for her—broad shoulders in a dark tailored suit, black dress shirt unbuttoned just low enough to border indecent, no tie. Her hair’s slicked back, jaw set, eyes already scanning the room.

And then they land on you.

Her gaze lingers, intense and unreadable, before sliding to your boyfriend.

You swear the temperature drops.

She stares at him like she’s already picked out the weakest spot to punch first. Her mouth presses into a line. Her jaw ticks.

Your boyfriend, completely oblivious, is in the middle of bragging to Ekko about how he hit diamond rank in some online shooter. Ekko’s politely nodding, clearly dying inside.

You’re barely hearing them. Your attention is locked on Sevika, and she’s watching you right back.

You quickly look away and take a bigger sip of wine than intended.

“Damn, babe, slow down,” your boyfriend says, laughing as he slings an arm around your waist.

You flinch, just slightly.

He doesn’t notice that, either.

You glance across the room again. Sevika’s talking to Mel now—but her eyes keep drifting back to you.

Watching.

Measuring.

Waiting.

You adjust the neckline of your dress, trying not to think about her hands. About her mouth. About the last time you were alone together.

You drain the rest of your chardonnay.

A few hours later and the music’s too loud. The lights are too warm. The voices blur together like you’re underwater.

You laugh when you’re supposed to, nod when your boyfriend talks, sip your wine just to keep your mouth busy—but your chest is tight, your throat’s dry, and your ears are ringing.

And then he says something.

You don’t even catch it, really—some offhand comment about calories or how much you’re drinking.

It hits the same nerve anyway.

You excuse yourself without thinking, barely muttering something about needing air.

The balcony is massive, lined with plants that have no business looking that elegant. The night air is cool, crisp against your skin, and the city glows below like a reflection of the stars. No one’s out here. Just silence, finally.

You dig into your purse and pull out the cigarette you swore you weren’t keeping anymore.

You light it with shaking hands.

The first inhale hits hard. Not smooth, not pleasant—but grounding.

You breathe out slowly, leaning back in one of the sleek patio chairs, staring at the skyline like it might give you answers.

The door clicks behind you.

You don’t need to look.

You know it’s her.

Sevika steps out onto the balcony like she owns it—of course she does. She doesn’t say anything at first. Just walks over and nods toward your cigarette.

“Got another?”

You pause. Then reach into your bag and hand one over.

She lights it from yours, the flame flickering between you. Her fingers brush yours, just barely.

You don’t say anything.

She exhales, then glances over. “Didn’t think you smoked.”

“I don’t,” you say quietly. “Not really.”

She nods once. Like she gets it.

The silence hangs there, warm with shared breath, smoke curling between you.

“I didn’t hit him,” she says eventually.

You laugh—just a small, exhausted huff. “Yeah. Thanks for that.”

“He deserves worse,” she adds, taking another drag. “You looked miserable.”

You look at her. The city lights reflect in her eyes.

“I was.”

She turns to face you fully now, stepping closer, close enough that you can smell the smoke on her lips, the soft scent of whatever expensive cologne clings to her collar.

“I can’t stop thinking about that night,” she admits, voice low, dangerous with honesty.

You swallow. “I said it was a mistake.”

“Then why’d you light that cigarette like you were waiting for me?”

Your lips part, but no words come.

She reaches out, fingers brushing the side of your face, then trailing down your arm. Her hand rests gently on your waist, not demanding—just there. Her cigarette burns low between her fingers, forgotten.

You don’t pull away.

When she leans in, you meet her halfway.

The kiss is soft at first—surprisingly so. All breath and hesitation, like she’s asking for permission with her mouth. But then it deepens. Her hand grips your waist tighter. Your fingers curl in the lapel of her suit jacket.

The smoke, the night air, the tension—it all wraps around you, blurring out everything else.

Until—

“Are you serious?”

You both freeze.

Mel’s voice cuts through the quiet like a knife.

You turn your head slowly, lips still kiss-swollen, Sevika’s hand still on your waist.

Mel’s standing in the open balcony door, arms crossed, expression unreadable—but her eyebrow is doing the absolute most.

“Is this, like, a kink?” she says flatly. “You two only hook up when I’m about to walk in?”

You pull away from Sevika like you’ve just woken up mid-dream, breath still shaky, heart thudding in your ears. Her hand lingers on your waist for half a second before you step out of her reach completely.

You don’t meet her eyes.

You just walk.

Your heels click softly against the stone balcony floor as you move past the potted plants and melting ashtray, toward the glowing doorway where Mel’s still standing—expression unreadable, lips pursed, arms crossed like she’s both exhausted and waiting for a good reason not to slap someone.

You reach her side.

You pause.

Your lips part.

“Um—”

“I won’t tell anyone,” she says, eyes still on the skyline. Not unkind. Just resigned.

You nod. You don't say thank you. You don't have it in you.

You slip past her into the party, leaving the smell of smoke and regret behind you.

Back on the balcony, Sevika exhales hard through her nose, turning away from the city like she could punch the moon if she tried hard enough.

“You have the worst timing,” she mutters.

Mel doesn’t flinch. She finally steps out onto the balcony, letting the door close gently behind her.

“No,” she says. “You have the worst impulse control.”

Sevika shoots her a glare, sharp and tired. “Do you enjoy walking in every time I’m with her?”

“You’re not supposed to be ‘with her’ at all,” Mel snaps, lowering her voice. “She’s your employee. This is your job. You're not supposed to be sneaking off to make out with the assistant like you're in some—some corporate fanfiction!”

Sevika scoffs. “This isn’t just some fling.”

“Then it’s worse.”

Mel’s voice softens just slightly.

“She doesn’t know what she wants yet. And you're not helping.”

Sevika doesn’t respond at first. Her jaw flexes. She crushes the stub of her cigarette into the stone railing, the ember dying with a hiss.

“She was happy with me,” Sevika mutters. “For a second. She looked at me like—like I meant something.”

“And then she walked away,” Mel says gently. “Again.”

That one lands.

Mel sighs, placing a hand on the railing. “You can’t be the person she runs to and the reason she has to run from at the same time.”

Sevika doesn’t say anything.

Mel doesn’t press.

They just stand there—two tired women on a balcony full of secondhand smoke, watching the city sparkle like it’s mocking them.

The night hums quietly around them now, all the chaos and chatter muffled behind thick glass. The city blinks below like it’s listening in.

Mel doesn’t leave.

She just exhales slowly, watching Sevika’s clenched fists, the way her knuckles stay white even though the cigarette’s long dead.

“I thought you said you were fine,” Mel says, her voice not accusatory—just... tired. Familiar.

Sevika doesn’t answer right away. Just stares straight ahead, jaw tight.

Mel turns slightly, eyes narrowing. “Is this about her or is this about samantha?”

A beat.

Two.

Then Sevika scoffs, low and bitter. “Dont say her name like that.”

Mel sighs.  “You’ve been a wreck since she left.” she tried to say as gently as possible 

Sevika’s shoulders tense. “She didn’t leave. She traded up. Found someone who could give her the picture-perfect shit she wanted. I was just... temporary.”

Mel’s face softens.

“And then you met someone who looked at you like you were more than temporary,” she says, quietly. “And now you’re trying to make that mean something.”

Sevika doesn’t deny it.

She leans on the railing, both arms braced like she’s holding herself up.

“I didn’t even get time to be angry,” she mutters. “It was like—one minute we were fighting, and the next she was engaged. Just done. Like I was some phase.”

Mel tilts her head. “You weren’t.”

Sevika laughs bitterly. “Sure as hell felt like I was.”

She looks up at the sky—like maybe it’ll swallow the lump forming in her throat.

“I’m not used to being the one left behind.”

Mel watches her carefully. Then steps closer, just enough to be beside her, not in front of her.

“You don’t have to bury yourself in someone new to prove you still matter.”

“I’m not,” Sevika says automatically.

“You are,” Mel says gently. “And it’s not fair to either of you.”

Silence falls between them again—heavy, but not hostile. The kind of silence that only happens between people who’ve known each other too long, seen too much.

After a minute, Sevika mutters, “She makes it so fucking hard not to care.”

Mel nods slowly.

“I know.”

You’re standing near the hallway now, away from the main buzz of the party, one hand still loosely cradling your wine glass, the other clutching your little clutch bag like it’s going to keep you grounded.

But you never stopped watching the balcony doors.

And then, there they are.

Sevika and Mel walk in together, side by side.

They aren’t touching.

They aren’t even smiling.

But they’re… close. In that quiet, easy kind of way that doesn’t need words. The kind that says they’ve been through some things. That they know each other.

You notice the way Sevika looks at her. Not intense like how she looked at you on the balcony. But steady. Familiar. Like maybe she’s looked at Mel like that before. Like maybe she still does.

Mel leans in to say something low near Sevika’s ear, and Sevika gives her a tired smirk in return.

It guts you.

You feel ridiculous. And stupid. And young. Like this was never anything to her. Just a new game. A project. Maybe it was never about you at all.

Maybe you were just a stand-in.

Just the next girl who would look at her like she meant something.

Your throat tightens, the party sounds warping around you, distant and unimportant.

You set your wine glass on a table you pass and slip out the side entrance with your boyfriend without saying goodbye. Not to Caitlyn. Not to Ekko. Not to anyone.

You don’t look back.

And Sevika?

She doesn’t see you leave.

comment to be added to the taglist!

@gaptoothedlesbo @magnificentmilkshakearbiter @half-of-a-gay

[rhyrhy]

Slut me out series ˚ · .˚ ༘🦋⋆｡˚

Football! Fuckboy! Abby Anderson x female reader!

Cw: cunnilingus, fingering (r! Receiving), sex/actions under the influence, hate sex-ish, talks of drinking, smoking, college/ modern setting Abby!, no talks on body or race specifics! (Ellie appearance!)

MDNI- mlist for previous chapters

Chapter five: Out of bounds (not fully proofread I’m tired)

January 19th, 1am

The pool lights flickered, casting a soft glow that reflected on the water, painting everyone’s face in shades of blue and green. You had your head laid back on the cool, wet tile at the pool’s edge, listening to the distant chatter and the soft splash of water. The hum of R&B from the speakers couldn’t drown out the nagging question you had bouncing in your mind. So, you turned to Layla.

“Do you think she meant it, Lay?” you asked, unsure if the answer could even help the pit in your stomach.

Layla looked at you, brow furrowed, then softened. She knew what you were asking. “I think she did,” she said quietly. “And you know I wouldn’t lie to you. So… yeah”

Her words lingered in the air.

Was she really sorry this time? What did that even mean? What now?

You’d been soaking for an hour or so, you couldn’t bear to go back inside right now. Your mind was a mess, and whatever Layla put in your cup wasn’t helping. It just made you more fuzzy than wanted. Praying she’d come back soon, for a distraction or unfunny dad joke she loves to tell when you aren’t feeling like yourself.

You tried to push away the lingering thoughts of Abby. Don’t let her consume you, you are your own person. You repeat in your head, letting out a deep sigh. They wouldn’t leave you alone. Until a lanky, auburn haired, familiar face entered your line of sight.

You blinked a few time to process, seeing Ellie. standing a few feet away, her hands stuffed casually into the pockets of her faded jeans, her slightly awkward yet endearing smile impossible to ignore. Ellie Williams, You’d borrowed notes and had a few study groups with her in it, a friend. A comfort from the raging thoughts. Ellie’s eyes glinted with playful energy. you couldn’t help but feel a slight pull toward her, even with everything else on your mind.

“You looked a little lonely over here.” She nodded toward you, her green eyes flicking briefly to the drink in your hand. “Guess I’ll have to keep you company now.”

A small smile fell on your face. “Oh you’ll ‘have to’ , Is that right?”

Ellie shrugged, stepping closer. “Just doing my civic duty.” She leaned against the pool railing, her expression soft. “soo, you hiding from someone or?All mopey, red solo cup in hand”

You laugh at her dramatic description of you just chilling in the pool. Although she’s right, you were a tad ‘mopey’. Before you could answer, the patio door slid open with a clatter. Abby stepped out, her broad shoulders silhouetted by the light from the house, carrying an air that made your heart to pause for half a second. Yeah..Maybe it was foolish to think she wouldn’t be here.

Ellie’s teasing smirk faded slightly as her gaze flicked toward Abby, and she straightened up. “Guess I’ll leave you to it,” she murmured, her voice quieter now. She gave you a smile before turning and disappearing back into the crowd.

You barely had time to process Ellie’s sudden appearance before she was shuffling through the backyard. you sighed deeply and sank into the water a little more praying once more but for her to somehow not notice you.

And for awhile, she didn’t…until she did.

“Oh…Didn’t expect to see you here,” Abby said, her tone calm, though the way her hands flexed at her sides awkwardly gave her away.

You set your drink down on the pool ledge, avoiding her eyes. “Didn’t plan on it.” She may have apologized but I didn’t mean you were any less pissed at her whole ‘hit it and quit it’ act.

The air between you felt heavy, the distant chatter of the party and the bass-heavy music fading into the background. Abby shifted on her feet, glancing over her shoulder briefly, as if gauging whether this conversation was worth continuing.

…And for better or worse, she decided it was.

“Hey, about the other night—”

“Please Don’t,” you cut her off, finally meeting her gaze. Her blue eyes were softer than you wanted them to be, and it made your chest tighten. “I’m not here to rehash it, please.”

Abby hesitated, the sharp confidence she usually carried dulled by your words. Then Abby’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought she might walk away. Instead, she took a step closer, her voice almost pleading. “I don’t know how to fix this, okay? But I meant what I said to you, even if I messed up.”

There it was again. you had wanted to hear for weeks, and yet it still didn’t feel the way you thought it would. The words sounded sincere, but sincerity didn’t erase the hurt she’d caused.

Your heart skipped, the weight of her words pressing down on you. You wanted to believe her—wanted to believe there was still something real there—but the ache of what she’d done was still fresh. Before you could respond, Layla reappeared, her presence breaking the tension like a knife to a balloon.

“Sis, Everything good here?” she asked, her tone casual but her eyes narrowed as they flicked between you and Abby.

“Fine,” you said quickly, grabbing your drink and standing up. “I was just heading inside.”

You brushed past Abby, The feeling of her strong shoulder against yours sent a shiver down your spine but it quickly vanished. feeling her eyes linger on you as you walked away. The second somewhat apology had come, or more so admission of guilt..but the question of if it was genuine still bounced around in the air.

——-

The night dragged on, Layla throwing more distractions your way than you could handle. They were almost working. “we’re about to play pong in the living room. You in?” You hesitated, glancing toward the back door. You could still feel Abby’s presence out there, like a shadow you couldn’t shake.

Layla nudged you. “Come on, forget her for a minute. This is supposed to be fun, remember?”

Sighing, you relented. “Fine. But only if I’m on your team. I’m not carrying someone else.”

Layla grinned, pulling you toward the living room where a makeshift table had been set up. Red solo cups were lined up in neat triangles on either end, and a group of people were already cheering loudly as a ball arced through the air and splashed into one of the cups.

——-

The game quickly became a small escape—a distraction that let you focus on something other than Abby’s lingering words. You and Layla made a solid team, racking up points and earning loud cheers from the group that had gathered to watch.

For a while, it felt like the knot in your stomach was starting to loosen. You were finally feeling normal. Before this torture of the Abby Anderson web. The laughter, the competitive smack talk, and Layla’s overbearing teasing were enough to keep your mind occupied.

But then, just as you were lining up a shot, you caught sight of her. Abby had come back inside, her towering frame impossible to miss as she leaned against the wall near the kitchen, arms crossed. Her eyes were on you.

You locked hers with her mid throw—You missed the shot.

Layla noticed immediately, following your gaze. “Seriously?” she muttered under her breath. “She can’t leave you alone for five minutes?”

“Lay, Let it go,” you said quickly, trying to shake it off, but the distraction was already setting in.

Abby didn’t move, didn’t say anything. She just watched you, her expression unreadable. no matter how much you tried to focus on the game, her presence was like vacuum, pulling your attention back to her again and again. You hated the small flutter in your stomach swirling with irritation and hurt.

——-

The alcohol was settling in now, warmth washing over, blurring the sharp, harsh edges of the world around you. The chatter from the living room blurred into the heavy bass of the music, and Layla’s voice faded into the background as you excused yourself, weaving through the crowd toward the bathroom.

Inside, the sounds of the party fell away, leaving only the hum of dim lights and the distant thrum of the music through the walls. You leaned against the sink, as you stared at your reflection. still slightly damp from the dip earlier you turned to find a towel to dry off fully.

emotional weight of the night hitting you like a bricks, feeling your chest tighten as the flashes of the past month began to pour in now that you were alone with no distractions.

The push and pull was maddening. Every time you tried to move away from it, she showed up. Every time she spoke, she cracked open wounds you were desperate to let heal. How can her words be the bullet and bandage at the same time?

Why can’t you just let me go?

The door creaked open behind you, and you froze, meeting Abby’s reflection in the mirror. She stepped inside, closing the door behind her with a quiet click.

“Abby—”

“I had to,” she interrupted, her voice low and raw. “I couldn’t just…watch you out there and say nothing.”

You turned to face her, your back pressed against the sink. “We’ve already said enough.”

“Clearly not,” she said, her gaze pleading once again. as she took a step closer. “You think I don’t see it? You’re hurting. And I know I’m the reason why.”

Her words hung heavy in the air, cutting through the haze of alcohol just enough to make your chest ache. “Then why do you keep doing this?” you asked, your voice breaking. “Why can’t you just leave me alone if you’re not going to—”

“I don’t want to leave you alone,” she said, closing the distance between you. Her voice softened, but her expression was anything but. “You think I don’t feel it too? You think I don’t hate myself for how I’ve hurt you?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, Abby’s strong hands were on your face, pulling you toward her. Her lips crashed into yours, desperate and messy, the heat of the moment fueled by the alcohol coursing through your system and the unresolved tension between you. You dropped the towel you had in hand and clinger onto her to steady you both.

You said you were done, she was supposed to be a closed chapter. So this wasn’t the best idea—you both knew that. The taste of tequila lingered on her lips, and your thoughts screamed at you to pull away, but your body didn’t listen. Your fingers tangled in her shirt as you kissed her back, a mix of anger, longing with a swirl of so many other emotions you couldn’t and wouldn’t name.

The kiss deepened, your back pressing harder against the sink as her hands slid to your waist, holding you like you might disappear. Her tongue darting into your mouth when gasped at her grasp on your hips. pull away. Pull away!

You couldn’t. For a moment, the world outside the bathroom disappeared. There was no party, no pain, no lingering questions. just the two of you, caught in something reckless. as the kiss broke, reality crashed back in. Abby’s forehead rested pressed against yours, her breathing uneven. You couldn’t open your eyes, knowing it would make the moment too real. The weight of what was happening would crash back into your mind if you did. Your mind once again a hailstorm of emotions and unspoken words.

“Abs…This doesn’t fix anything,” you whispered.

“I know,” Abby said, her voice low and hoarse. “But I can’t help it. Please just…please just this once”

She couldn’t help it and Neither could you.

As soon as you gave her the green light, your lips were back together like you were glued together.

Her tongue gently teased at your lower lip gently, silently asking for permission to deepen the kiss. Her other hand moved from your hip to wrap around your waist, her fingers gently holding onto the back of your shirt, pulling you closer still.

The moment you gave her access, abby’s tongue darted back into your mouth, her moan muffled by the kiss as she began to deepen the kiss. Her hand on your lower back began to explore your body, slowly tracing up and down your sides while she kissed you. Clearly missing how you felt in her hands.

She felt as if her body was almost completely pressed against yours now, her hands and lips practically greedy as they continued to explore, both her hands tracing up and down your sides, over your hips, and your body pressed against hers, her tongue continuing to gently explore your mouth, tasting you, wanting more of you, needing more of you.

Abby’s breathing became heavy and ragged as the kiss went on, her entire body continuing to react more and more as the kiss continued, her hands continuing to trace over your body, her hips gently grinding against yours, a small moan slipping past her lips again as she began to kiss you with more and more urgency. You were sure she was going to devour you at this point. She felt as if she was losing herself in the kiss, feeling as if the only thing that mattered was how your body felt against hers, how your tongue felt in her mouth, how your body was pushing her against the wall, her moans getting louder and louder the more the kissed.

You were surprised and slightly disappointed when she pulled away, wanting to continue the kiss. breathing heavily, trying to catch your breath, lips slightly swollen from the kiss, cheeks flushed as your eyes slowly opened.

her eyes tracing from yours to your slightly swollen lips, enjoying how they still looked from the kiss. Her hands were still resting gently on your hips, almost like she couldn’t bring herself to let go of your body. Not again. Not after all this time apart. Even though it was her fault.

Abby sighs of relief and moans softly at the feeling of your hands on her hips. You gave into the moment and ran your hands over the places you missed most. her body responding instantly to your touch. She leans in, pressing her mouth to your neck, her lips trailing hot kisses along the soft skin there.

Abby smiles against your skin as she feels your response, her kisses becoming more intense as she nips and sucks at your neck. Her hand slides up to tangle in your hair, holding your head in place as her other hand grips at your hip, pulling you closer, if that’s even possible at this point. she continues to kiss and bite at your neck, but she wants more. She wants to taste you, to re-explore every inch of you. missing the way you sounded and squirmed under her. Without warning, she drops suddenly to her knees, her hands working quickly at the fastenings of your jeans. Those blue eyes flick up to meet yours, a hint of mischief in them as she works the buttons on your jeans. you gasp as she began to undo your bottoms, hips bucking slightly with anticipation. She can hear your breath coming in shorter bursts. She feels the hand tighten on her shoulders, as you watch her work. All rational thoughts are out the window and did a full 180. Her hands push at the fabric, tugging them down over your hips until they're around your ankles. Truth be told, she didn’t want to double check in fear you’d pull away.

She wastes no time in moving forward, her mouth immediately pressed against the soft, sensitive skin of your plush inner thigh.

The kisses move higher, her tongue tracing patterns along your thighs as her hands grip your hips, keeping you pinned against the bathroom wall. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Flushed, hand in her hair, biting your lip in response to her mouth so close to where you wanted her. mind too fuzzy to care about if this was a good idea anymore.

Abby leans in and presses her mouth against the soft material of your underwear. her tongue tracing the edge of the material as her hands slide up and down your thighs, gripping at your skin. She glances up at you from time to time, watching your expressions as she works, every sigh and sigh like a sign telling her to keep going.

“Abs…please”

She hears you gasp her name and moans in response, the sound muffled by the fabric of your underwear. She reaches up and pulls the material away with a quick tug, her mouth immediately moving to taste you directly, her tongue sliding over your folds, desperately separating them.

Tongue plunging into your walls.

the slight was almost to much, as leaned your head back onto the wall in pleasure. her tongue-fucking you, face buried so deep between your legs you weren’t sure if she was even breathing, and honestly didn’t care.

Dropping a hand to grip onto her hair, needing to steady yourself to not buckle completely.

She slid a hand up your hips to cup around one of your breast. Needing at the skin, like she was trying to re-memorize the lines and dips of your body. When she squeezed a little on the swell of your breast

You groaned and involuntarily thrusting your hips up, giving her access to push her tongue further into your wet gummy yet needy entrance

then drops the hand completely to draw messy circles around the tense bud of your clit.

All you could do half lidded was watch the scene of her working on your pussy for the third time you’d allowed her between your legs, in the bathroom mirror. One strong veiny hand gripping on your hip to keep you steady and the other filling the bathroom walls with sounds of sin. The sloshing of her thick fingers working against you restlessly. finding its home in the warm, wet folds of your cunt. Thumb out to press messy circles on the aching bud of your clit.

Your words were slurred pleas to go faster, give you move. subconsciously wanting her to tire herself out on pleasing you, in slight payback of the hell she’d been putting you through these past few weeks.

“Faster abs..faster” you begged gripping her hair into you as close as she could be.

Those desperate blue eyes watch every reaction you gave her. Obeying your wishes she draws her fingers out and plunge them back into you again in a quicker manner.

your eyes rolled back. gripping her braid so tight you’d think you’d pull her thoughts out.

Jesus, she kept brushing on a spot deep inside you with the pads of her fingers. Thankfully, She never faltered, plunging her fingers knuckle-deep at whatever pace you mumbled out. You two were completely lost in the moment. The room was so hot, with hurt, and pure need.

Every hurtful moment that flashed through your mind caused you to rut of your hips faster against her face. If you couldn’t punch it, you were going to fuck it into oblivion.

your walls were sensitive you’re clamping around her fingers. Head fallen back on the wall.

Abby can hear it in your voice, the way your words are coming out in broken gasps and moans, the way you're trembling and pressing against her.

you couldn’t take it anymore, squeezing your thighs together around her head. And crying out through your teeth as you let the orgasm take you.

Back jolting off the wall as you let the flash of white from your eyes squeezing shut. and shudder as you placed a hand on her shoulder to stay upright. Catching your breath and slowly opening your eyes once more, seeing yourself in the mirror once again.

A mess.

—-

“We— Jesus… we can’t keep doing this…this is so stupid Abby I—“ you panted out. Tugging her head back from between your legs to look up at you.

but the sound of a knock at the door interrupted

“Hey, some of us need the bathroom too, you know!” a voice called from outside, followed by a chorus of laughter.

You both froze, caught in the intimacy of the moment and the sudden reminder of where you were. Abby’s eyes stayed locked on yours, looking up at you. Hands on your hips still. searching for something…maybe forgiveness, maybe understanding..but you couldn’t give it to her. Not yet. Especially not after what you just gave into.

——-

Last few chapters on Sunday! Thank you for reading so far :p💓💐💞 will proofread later, I’m half asleep 💤

—-

Taglist cuties: @deadbolted @grey-jedi12 @ceylnisgone @evabby @abby-anderson-wifey @icedsimpsayo @elle-girlylesbian

[owliellder]

Two's A Crowd

College Bully! Leon Kennedy x fem! Reader

MDNI 18+

(Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5)

Description: College is proving to be a lot harder than you imagined. You cannot fail this math class. So when you've tried everything else, a well-known student is recommended to you by your professor for tutoring lessons, not really leaving you with much of a choice but to work with him.

Warnings: Not proofread, No Use of Y/N, Dub-Con, Unprotected Sex, Bullying, Yelling, Cursing

Tags: College AU, Bully! Leon, Shy! Reader, both are in their early 20's, Leon is Rude AF in the beginning, Loss of Virginity, Oral Sex, Fingering, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Additional Tags to be Added

Author's Note: Yay!! New multi-chapter fic in honor of 800 followers!!

I'm a sucker for tropes and mean Leon is one I can't keep out of my head. If you're not good at math then this is the fic for you! (also don't mind me slipping some Sky lore in here...)

Cross-posted onto AO3

Chapter 1

Growing up, college had always been a big dream of yours, leaving you fantasizing day in and out about all the possibilities that would open up, along with actually getting to live through the renowned “college experience”.

In reality, college was a lot harder than you were expecting. Your parents had told you to jump right into it after high school, fearing taking a gap year would ruin your good streak. The stress was starting to get to you and it was only a semester into your freshman year. All the tests, projects, and general studying really wore down on your mental health, not to mention you were failing the one math class you had.

You couldn’t tell your parents, no, they’d probably have a heart attack, especially since that math class was a prerequisite to another class that you needed to take. They were already worried enough that you hadn’t picked a major yet, so who knows how they’d take the news that you were failing right off the bat.

It was hard enough that you were feeling homesick. This was the first time you’d ever been this far away from home, studying at a university when you would’ve been perfectly content going to a community college closer to home. Your roommate was nice, but the two of you weren’t growing any closer than mere acquaintances, so it always felt awkward to just exist in your own dorm room.

Your eating habits worsened with the lack of any real food within five miles of campus. Sure there were a couple fast food chains on the campus itself, but they closed incredibly early. By the time you finished studying, which was around six in the evening, it had already closed. Not to mention that when they were open, the lines were comically long. University food was out of the question after you got violently ill from their “chicken nuggets”, so you were left with the little money your parents provided once a week to order takeout or make quick trips to the store to buy a frozen meal. Only one, since the mini fridge in your dorm was almost always occupied by your roommates stuff.

Everything was so exhausting and you were way out of your comfort zone having to use the community bathrooms for all your hygienic routines. Walking in always made you feel like you were interrupting a meeting in the president’s oval office with how many nasty looks you were given when all you were trying to do was brush your teeth.

The first thing you saw whenever you opened up Canvas was a massive F staring you down from the little box that comprised the majority of your math assignments and tests, making you feel less than worthless. This one semester alone helped you understand why so many people dropped out, this was hard.

By now you’d already gone to your math professor multiple times asking for redos or extra credit work. He was probably sick of seeing you since you showed up after almost every single assignment’s grades were submitted.

“Heeeyyy, Mr. Lebovic..” You said after knocking your knuckle against his open door to grab his attention. “Listen, about that last quiz, I-”

He cut you off with a wave of his hand before gesturing towards one of the chairs sitting in front of his desk. You hurried to sit down, watching nervously as he slowly pulled his eyes off his computer and onto you. “I get it, you don’t need to explain yourself.” His relaxed tone and faint smile was enough to ease your nerves a bit, letting your shoulders slump with a sigh. “You’ve been trying really hard, I can easily recognize that.”

You nodded eagerly, licking your dry lips as you opened your mouth to speak, only to be cut off again. “I’ve been looking into studying options that might help you. Resources are scarce for this material, but I think I finally have a tutor to help you out.” 

A wave of relief washed over you at the mention of tutor. Maybe you wouldn’t have to face the wrath of your parent’s disappointment after all! “Oh.. o-okay…” you stuttered, eyebrows furrowing as you silently beckoned him to continue.

“I teach another math class, it’s higher level, but I have a student in there that’s just taken up tutoring the material you’re learning.” Your professor seemed just as happy as you were about the opportunity. “His name is Leon Kennedy, he’s got one of the study rooms in the library from three to five in the afternoon on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.”

It took you a second to process everything Mr. Lebovic was telling you before you scrambled to pull out a sticky note and a pen to write all the information down on. You heard the older man chuckle softly, looking over at him when he held out a small piece of paper to you. “I wrote it down already for you, don’t worry.” You wished you could’ve thanked him tenfold, but his office hours were closed for the day now, so you said a quick goodbye and hurried back to your dorm, holding onto the piece of paper like a lifeline.

Contrary to what your math professor thinks, you knew the name “Leon Kennedy”. You had a couple friends that you hung out with occasionally out in the grass in front of the science building and they’d brought him up before. The few vague bits of info that you’d heard weren’t flattering, painting this Leon in quite a bad light; the stereotypical jock in a frat flying by on a full-ride scholarship. However, he was your saving grace now and you needed to develop more of an unbiased opinion of him if he was going to help you raise your grade from an F.

“Yeesh, sorry I’m not better at math or I would’ve helped you.” One of your friends, Sky, spoke up as they read the piece of paper your professor gave you yesterday from over your shoulder. “Even if you were better at math, I still wouldn’t trust you.” Ella, your other friend, laughed out.

“Ha ha, yeah, Sky failed math four times. Big whoop.” Sky waved their hands dramatically before walking over to sit down next to Ella in the dead grass. “Seriously though, you’re better off taking a failing grade and dealing with your parents. Kennedy is the devil incarnate.”

“The devil incarnate sounds easier to put up with than my parents, so I’ll take my chances..” You grumbled, taking a seat on a medium-sized rock close to the pair. “Maybe he’s turning a new leaf? Deciding to tutor?” 

Sky crossed her arms and rolled her eyes which made Ella elbow them in the side before giving you a sympathetic smile. “Maybe so, but please just be careful. I don’t want you having to put up with some jackass that has an ego bigger than Texas.” 

You nodded with a slight frown, moving your foot side to side lazily to push the grass blades around. You didn’t even think to consider the repercussions of studying with some random junior. “I’m sure it’ll be alright. Besides, just tell Sky and I if he’s giving you any trouble. I know damn well no man likes to put up with two women yelling in his face.” Sky nodded and pointed to Ella for added dramatics. “Yeah, and I bite. My top six teeth are porcelain so that shit hurts. Trust me.”

Your friends never failed to make you laugh, a slight resolve in a pool full of worries, you suppose. “Don’t worry, you guys’ll be the first to know if Leon is mean.”

“Good. Now, when’re you gonna go see the guy?” Sky rested their arms on their knees before looking up at you. “Uh.. in a couple hours I guess. I already made the appointment.” Your response seemed to surprise both of your friends, giving them a confused look in response to their shocked ones. “Is that.. Is that not a good time?”

“No no, just.. I thought you would’ve maybe taken a little longer to go and see him.” Ella shrugged, reaching a hand up to scratch behind their neck. “Proud of you, taking the initiative like that.” She then looked at her phone before pulling herself off the ground with a small groan. “I got class in a couple minutes. Good luck with the frat boy.” 

She patted your shoulder as she walked off towards the larger building on campus, leaving you and Sky alone for the rest of the time. Part of you wished both of your friends could walk you to the library when the time came, but having Sky was enough. “So.. Leon’s bad bad?” You needed a bit more clarification on the guy you were going to spend one-on-one time with, something to calm you down after running through countless scenarios in your head.

“He’s not all bad, 'least I don't think. I’ve exchanged a few ‘hello’s’ and ‘excuse me’s’ with him here and there since we apparently frequent the same building.” Sky scooted over to the rock you were sitting on, placing the back of their head on your legs. A couple brown leaves blew over from a nearby tree which they grabbed and crunched with their hand. “I haven’t personally experienced any bad happenings around him, but he is part of a pretty notoriously rowdy frat, so you have to promise me that you’ll only study with him on campus and never go to that frat house or any frat house in general, alright?”

Sky pointed up at you, poking the underside of your chin which made you laugh again and swat their hand away. “As much as I rave about wanting to have the stereotypical college experience, going to a frat house was never part of my daydreaming.”

“Good. Keep it that way.” They switched their fingers to give you a quick thumbs up before letting their arm flop down into their lap, eyes closing with a sigh. “Anyways, besides all that, wanna go get some food? I don’t have another class today and you’ve got about an hour and a half to spare, so actually you have no choice. Get up.”

You stood up with a shake of your head once Sky pushed off of your legs who stood up as well with a small stretch. “Don’t burn me at the stake, but I kinda want grocery store sushi. I’m feeling lucky.”

“Please don’t.” You sighed, pocketing the piece of paper before beginning to follow behind Sky as they started to walk across the grass. 

After the two of you shared a sandwich from some random shop not too far off campus, Sky walked with you up to the library, stopping just before the front desk. They agreed to not wander in with you under the condition that you’ll go to their dorm straight after to discuss details.

To say you were nervous was an understatement. Most of what you heard about this guy meant he was bad news, though you really didn’t have much of a choice when it came to seeing him. Like your math professor said, there weren’t a lot of options when it came to studying the material you were learning. Sure you had the internet and other students in the class, but you preferred the idea of a tutor since you’d already exhausted yourself trying to follow along with various youtube videos. You needed the in-person teaching, it just stuck better in your head that way.

Slowly starting to walk, you made your way over to the study rooms lining the back of the library. The rooms seemed pretty private with the only window being on the door, which had glass nearly top to bottom. Thankfully the rooms were numbered and Leon had texted you which room to go to when you made the appointment with him, you had no idea what he looked like and you didn’t want to look like a creep eyeballing people through the door until you hopefully found the right person.

Standing off to the side, you could see the number you were looking for sitting above the door, taking a brief moment to collect yourself and hype yourself up to talk to someone who didn’t have the greatest reputation. Set aside everything you’ve heard and just hope for the best..

You took in a deep breath as you strode over to the door, glancing inside through the window before knocking to let him know you were there. The table was angled off more to the left so you didn’t immediately see him until he leaned over the table to see who had knocked. Confidence left you as soon as you made eye contact with Leon due to the groan you could hear through the door. It took you a couple seconds, but you eventually managed to get your body to work with you, hand turning the handle to let yourself in.

“-the last thing I need..” You caught the end of his little rant to himself as you opened the door. The saying “fake it ‘till you make it” is harder than it sounds since your entire body decided to betray you, deciding that shrinking in was the best move. Quietly, you shuffled over to sit across from him at the table, placing your backpack in your lap in some weird way to provide comfort in this situation.

“You weren’t supposed to show up.” Leon grumbled, sitting far back in the tilted chair as his feet lifted the front end of the chair slightly. His arms were crossed and he was giving you probably the nastiest look you’ve ever seen, next to your parents, of course. All you did was sit there giving him a blank stare. It was obvious what he’d said, yet the sheer forwardness of that snide comment had you more than confused. “What?-”

“You weren’t supposed to show up.” Apparently he felt the need to repeat himself with some added bite, barely letting you get a word in. “No one ever shows up to these shitty tutor- whatever the fucks.”

Wow. Okay. “Uh..” You didn’t even know what to say to that. It completely caught you off guard. You’d run through countless ways this interaction would go in your head, but this wasn’t one of those ways. The two of you sat in a very tense silence with Leon just glaring at you from across the table, continuing to rock back and forth in the chair.

Without uncrossing his arms, Leon lifted a hand and waved it around slightly while shaking his head. “Are you actually still gonna sit here orrr…?” The sound of his voice finally snapped you out of shock, causing you to shoot your gaze down to your backpack, fumbling with its partially broken zipper. “I-.. Mr. Lebovic recommended you..?”

You pulled out a few of your failed assignments from your bag before setting them down on the table with shaky hands, keeping your eyes glued to the papers to avoid that burning stare the man in front of you has. “I need-.. I need help..?”

“Do you?” Leon let the chair fall forward, his sarcastic tone starting to make your whole body tremble. “You don’t sound like you do.” He snatched one of your assignments from the table and held it up, pursing his lips as he studied the various red marks made on it closely. You chose to not respond to that, letting your hands rest on top of your backpack so you had something to squeeze.

He turned the page around, the sound of the paper wobbling the only thing you could hear right after the sound of the central heat blowing through the vent in the room. Suddenly, Leon started chuckling to himself, shaking his head incredulously as he flipped the paper back and forth a couple times before letting it fall back to the table. “This is terrible!” His laugh grew louder as he tilted his body to the side to pull out his phone, taking a picture of the assignments you’d put on the table. 

How on earth were you supposed to react to that other than just sitting quietly? He was actually making fun of you right to your face. Hell, he might as well point and laugh if he’s going to be this brasen. 

The most you could muster up was a quiet yet high-pitched “... huh?” in response to him. This whole ordeal was spiraling a little too fast for you to keep up with. You were expecting to put up with some grown man with a bratty attitude or even just a very uninterested, not all there jock with how Leon’s been described to you, not blatant bullying.

“Huh?” He mocked, taking one last look at his phone while loudly sucking on his teeth before pocketing it again. “Anyways, this is actually sad. How are you managing to fuck simple math up like this?” He roughly grabbed all the papers on the table and stacked them before partially tossing them back at you, some slipping onto the floor. “You’re too far gone, even I can’t fix that.”

You let out a gasp when the papers were tossed at your face, scrambling to catch some of them. Pushing the chair back, you leaned over to grab the few that fell on the floor, desperately holding back tears. “Please, you don’t understand.” You pleaded, voice cracking as you tried your best not to start crying in front of him. “I-I need to pass this class. I’m passing everything else, I just can’t keep up with this one!” You were speed-talking to try and argue your case, sitting back up with the small pile of papers that you struggled to stack properly.

Leon started rocking back in his chair again, arms back across his chest as he watched you with squinted eyes. The corners of his lips soon turned up into a smirk, taking in your sorry state before rolling his eyes with a dramatic groan. “Alright, alright, stop whining, jesus..” He cleared his throat, letting his head fall over the back of the chair. “I’ll help you only because I feel bad for you.” It’s not like he was going to admit that he was being forced to be a tutor, no one needs leverage over him like that

You couldn’t help but give a small smile despite his implication. It was a start. “And I’m not gonna do it today, either.” Well, the sooner the better, but still, it’s a start.

He then stood up from the chair, fixing his jacket with a sigh. “If you show up even a minute late on Friday, I’m not helping” and before you even had a chance to reply, he walked out of the room, the door shutting with a slam which made you flinch. Luckily, you were a very punctual person when it came to this kind of stuff. This was important, so if you had to show up early, so be it. You hurriedly shoved your assignments back into your backpack, not even fully zipping it up before rushing out of the study room, back through the library, and to the dorms.

“He said that?!” Sky yelled, quickly wiping their hand over their mouth to quiet themself once you shushed them. “I don’t really feel comfortable with you going to another ‘study session’ with that guy if he’s just gonna bully you.”

“I wouldn’t call it bullying-”

“He was bullying you.”

“OKAY! So what if he was?!” You fell back onto Sky’s bed with a sigh, arms splayed out with your legs dangling off the side. “I can handle it. As long as I get my grade up, who cares?”

Sky sat down next to you on their bed, giving you a sad look as you sat yourself up with your elbows. “I care. So does Ella. You shouldn’t put up with that just for a grade. I’m sure if you explain to your professor and-”

“And what? Tell him that I’m a grown woman getting bullied over something I should know by now?” You sat yourself up fully now, leaning forward to place your elbows on your thighs as your head rested in your hands. “It’s only until finals are over and we’re already halfway through October. Maybe I won’t even need that much time, maybe I’m just missing one simple… math move and it’ll get the gears in my brain moving again.”

You tilted your head to the side to look at Sky, head now resting only in your right hand as you took in their annoyed look. “Trust me. I can handle this.”

“If you say so.” They ran their fingers through her hair before looking away from you, directing their attention forward to stare off at nothing. “Just remember that I bite and I’m not afraid to use my fake chompers on that no good-”

“I don’t wanna think about escalations right now, but thank you.” You chuckled, playfully nudging Sky with your free hand before moving it back to hold your head up with the other. Though you were trying to convince Sky on this, you were mostly just trying to convince yourself that you could handle this. Handle Leon and his.. alluring charm..

Only until finals, maybe even sooner.

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Championship love

Heyy guys, I hope you enjoy this Max one-shot inspired by him winning the championship for the fourth time !!

If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.

You've been by Max's side for as long as you can remember. Teenagers with wild dreams and even wilder hearts, you both grew up together—through the awkward phases, the endless karting weekends, and the late-night phone calls where he shared his hopes of making it big in Formula 1. And he did. You’ve celebrated every step of his journey, but nothing compares to how you’ve marked each of his world championships together.

2011: The first time Max won the championship, it felt surreal. You were in Abu Dhabi, tears streaming down your face as he crossed the finish line and screamed over the radio. That night, back in the hotel room, it was just the two of you. Max was exhausted but glowing with pride, the trophy on the bedside table. He pulled you into his lap and kissed you like it was the first time, whispering, “This is just the beginning.”

2022: His second championship was no less thrilling. Max insisted on celebrating at home in Monaco, just the two of you again. He cooked you dinner—well, tried to. Half-burnt pasta and wine turned into laughter and slow dancing in the kitchen. He held you close, murmuring, “I couldn’t have done this without you.” You knew he meant it.

2023: The third title was chaotic—Sprint race in Qatar. But later that night, back at the motorhome, Max pulled you aside. His team was celebrating loudly in the background, but his focus was entirely on you. “Three-time world champion,” he said, smirking. “But being yours is still my favorite title.”

And now, here you are in Las Vegas. Max’s fourth championship.

The moment he crosses the line, you can barely hear the roar of the crowd over your own cheering. Your chest swells with pride as the fireworks explode over the track. It feels like a culmination of everything you’ve built together—his hard work, your unwavering support, and the love that’s only grown stronger with time.

Later that night, the team throws a party in one of the grand casinos. The celebration is lavish, the energy electric, but Max never lets go of your hand. Every so often, he leans down to kiss your temple or whispers something only for you to hear. He’s glowing, but there’s something else in his eyes—a secret, maybe, or anticipation.

Hours later, he whisks you away from the crowd, leading you to the rooftop of your hotel. The view is breathtaking—Las Vegas glittering like a sea of stars, a warm breeze wrapping around you both. You laugh, spinning to face him. “What are we doing up here?”

Max looks at you, his blue eyes soft and steady. He takes your hands in his, thumbs brushing over your knuckles. “I wanted to end this night with just us,” he says. “Like we always do.”

Your heart swells. “You’re getting sentimental, Verstappen.”

He chuckles but doesn’t look away. “I have a good reason.”

Before you can ask what he means, Max drops to one knee.

Time stops.

Your breath catches as he pulls a small velvet box from his pocket. “You’ve been with me through everything—every win, every loss, every moment in between. I can’t imagine doing this without you. I don’t want to do this without you.” He opens the box, revealing a stunning ring that glitters even brighter than the city lights. “Will you marry me?”

Tears blur your vision as you nod frantically, a smile breaking across your face. “Yes,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “Of course, yes.”

Max stands, slipping the ring onto your finger before pulling you into his arms. The kiss you share feels like every dream you’ve ever had coming true.

“You just made this the best championship celebration ever,” you say against his lips.

He grins, pressing his forehead to yours. “I think this one’s my favorite too.”

Under the Vegas sky, with the world at your feet, you know this moment is just the beginning of a lifetime of celebrations—together.

[mamiobesssionfics]

The Velvet Tap

Rhea Ripley x Reader

Warning: Non-Explicit Smut

Summary: You were at the wrong place at the right time.

The bar was dimly lit, crowded but not loud, and the glow of red neon made the edges of everything look warmer than it should have. 

You double-checked the name over the door, frowning slightly as you stepped in. “The Velvet Tap.” Right name. 

But no sign of your coworkers.

You scanned the room, phone in hand, waiting for a text and waiting for someone familiar to wave you over.

Instead, a woman caught your eye.

She leaned on the far end of the bar, dressed in black from jacket to boots, a single silver chain hanging at her throat. 

Her dark hair slicked back, arms folded, eyes sharp and unreadable, but when she noticed you looking, she smiled. It was the kind of smile that made your stomach flip.

She looked like trouble.

You looked away.

But when you moved toward the bar to get a drink and stall for time, she was there beside you.

“First time here?” she asked, voice low and teasing.

You blinked, startled. “Uh. Yeah. I think I’m actually in the wrong place. I’m supposed to be at a bar called The Velvet Tap for some team-building thing.”

Her smile widened, just a little.

“There’s another one,” she said, sipping her drink. “Same name. It’s a few blocks east. More bright lights, less mood lighting.”

You glanced around again, cheeks warming.

“Well, that explains why I didn’t see name tags and awkward mingling.”

“You want directions?” she asked.

You paused. 

Your phone buzzed with a coworker asking if you were still coming. You stared at the screen.

Then looked back at her.

She was watching you with quiet interest, her gaze steady but not unkind.

“No,” you said. “I think I’ll stay.”

Her brow arched. “Yeah?”

“I like the lighting here better,” you said, a little shy, but not backing down.

She let out a low laugh, warm, surprised, and waved over the bartender. “Two drinks, on me.”

“Thanks,” you said, glancing up at her. “You always charm lost strangers?”

“Only the pretty ones.”

Your pulse skipped.

The drinks came, and the two of you talked. 

It was easy. Too easy. You learned her name was Rhea, and that was enough to break the last of the awkwardness. 

She was surprisingly funny. Sharp but gentle when she teased. And when she listened, she gave you her full attention, like nothing else in the world mattered.

You didn’t remember laughing this much in weeks.

You didn’t remember being looked at like that… maybe ever.

By the second drink, your knees brushed.

By the third, she was touching your wrist when she leaned in close to say something.

And when she stood, she looked down at you and said, “Wanna get out of here?”

You nodded.

The ride to her place passed in a blur of streetlights and fast heartbeats.

Her apartment was dark and sleek, with black walls, leather furniture, and hints of deep red. 

She let you in gently, closing the door behind you with a soft click.

You turned to face her, suddenly unsure. She stepped closer, slow and deliberate.

“You can tell me no,” she said softly, hand brushing your jaw. “If you don’t want this.”

You looked up at her, feeling the tension stretch between you like silk.

“I want this,” you said, voice quiet but sure.

Her lips met yours without hesitation.

The kiss was slow at first, testing, like she wanted to memorise you one touch at a time. 

Her hands found your waist, your back, sliding beneath your shirt to warm skin. You gasped into her mouth as she deepened the kiss, her tongue stroking yours, possessive and sweet all at once.

She lifted you, like it was nothing, and carried you to the bedroom.

Clothes were stripped away between kisses and whispers — your dress sliding off your shoulders, her shirt pulled up over her head. You touched her like she was made of fire. She touched you like you were made of glass.

“Beautiful,” she murmured, her voice rough with want. “You’re so beautiful.”

She took her time, slow fingers, soft mouth, kisses pressed to every inch of your skin. When she finally sank into you, it wasn’t just about lust. It felt like she was trying to show you something she didn’t know how to say.

You wrapped your arms around her. Let her move against you. Matched her rhythm and whispered her name into her neck as your body arched and burned.

After, she held you. Her skin is warm. Her breath is slowing.

You lay tangled in her sheets, cherry perfume clinging to your pulse points, her arm resting heavy and sure around your waist.

“Still glad you took the wrong turn?” she murmured into your hair.

You smiled.

“Best wrong turn I’ve ever made.”

[rhiannonsknife]

── ❆ DAY 12: underneath the mistletoe

— summary: college au in which you find yourself under the mistletoe with a stranger.

— warnings: fluff. strangers to lovers. first kiss. gn!reader.

you step outside onto the chilly patio of the christmas party, hoping for some quiet time away from the large crowds. the muffled sounds of music and laughter still spill through the closed door behind you, but out here, the air is crisp and quiet. it’s not even mid-december yet, but the frat boys inside seem to take every excuse they can get to spend their weekends getting wasted.

the cold bites at your cheeks, and you pull your coat tighter around yourself, your breath curling into soft clouds in the dim light. you’re so caught up in the stillness of it all that you don’t notice the figure standing near the edge of the patio until you nearly bump into her

“shit” you mutter instantly, stepping back. “i’m sorry, i didn’t know anyone else would be here”

she turns, startled at first, but her expression softens almost immediately. “it’s okay”

you’ve never seen her around before, otherwise you’d surely remember: she’s beautiful, you think, even through the slightly tipsy state that you’re in. with striking, dark eyes and gentle features, her brown hair falling down her shoulders loosely.

“didn’t expect anyone to join me” the stranger says. “i just need a break. you look like you needed some air too?” her voice is quiet but kind, as if she’s been waiting for someone to join her without realizing.

you nod, feeling a bit awkward but oddly comforted by her presence. “yeah. the crowd in there is…a lot. just needed to breathe for a second”

“tell me about it. they’re really committed to the whole ‘christmas chaos’ thing, huh?”

you hesitate for a moment before stepping closer, your gaze lingering on her profile. there’s something about the way she’s standing; her shoulders slightly hunched, her fingers fidgeting with the rim of her cup, that makes it obvious her mind is elsewhere.

pulling your coat tighter around your torso, you stop by her side, arms resting on the patio railing.

“wanna talk about it?” you ask over a moment of surprisingly comfortable silence. she looks out into the distance. there’s a streetlight not too far from the house. little snowflakes come drizzling down from the night sky above, caught in the beam of light,

“it’s just been..” the stranger shrugs. “complicated. back home, i mean”

“ah” you nod once, trying not to pry but feeling a spark of curiosity. before you can stop yourself, the question slips out: “home..?” you can’t help it, you want to know more, to make her feel a little less like a stranger standing next to you in the cold.

“new jersey” she says, smiling softly. it seems like she wants to know you too, when she adds: “wiskayok. i’m shauna, by the way. shauna shipman”

“y/n” you introduce yourself quickly. “so, shauna shipman, what’s complicated back home?”

a small, amused smile curls up her -shauna’s- lips.

“home’s…weird, i guess. things there, i mean. i’ve got these friends i’ve known forever, and i love them, but-“ she cuts herself off, shaking her head as if to brush the thought away. “sorry, i don’t mean to dump all that on a stranger”

you shake your head, leaning against the railing beside her, the chill of the metal seeping through your sleeves. “you’re not dumping. i get it! small towns can be…a lot,” you scoff lightly. “everyone’s in everyone else’s business”

shauna dips her head back a little when she laughs.

“exactly. when you’re close with someone for so long, it’s like they think they know everything about you”

you nod, her words hitting closer to home than you’d expected. “yeah. sometimes it feels like the people who are supposed to know you best don’t actually see you at all, right?”

her gaze lingers on yours for a beat, her smile faltering but not disappearing completely. “right,” she sighs, still looking over to where the snow is falling. “sorry, that got kind of heavy,” she adds, her tone lighter now. “that’s what i get for being here” shauna scrunches the bridge of her nose. “not really my scene”

“not your scene?”

“no” she shakes her head. “my roommate practically dragged me here. said i needed to ‘have some fun’ or whatever”

you smile, your curiosity piqued. “so, what’s your scene then?”

she chuckles lightly, shaking her head. “honestly? i’m still trying to figure that out”

“your first year too?”

“yeah” shauna looks relieved to have found someone equally new to this.

“well that what was your scene? you know…in highschool?”

that’s the question that gets her. “soccer” she tells you, immediately. “i was on my school’s soccer varsity team”

“soccer?” you ask, genuinely impressed.

“yeah” shauna nods. “jersey number 6. we won the nationals last year, actually. that’s how i-“ she pauses, considers it, then proceeds. “that’s how i know most of these friends i mentioned, i guess. the yellowjackets”

“that’s-“ now it’s your turn to consider your words. “actually impressive”

“it’s funny,” shauna says, smiling softly. “i wasn’t expecting to meet anyone tonight who’d actually get it. most people here are so…different”

“i’ll take that…as a compliment? i think?” you snicker.

“yeah” shauna nods. “yeah, you do that”

the two of you fall silent again. it’s getting colder, the snow falling in thicker flakes now. getting back home will be fun. you rock back and forth on the spot, trying to warm yourself up as your gaze wanders. that’s when something green and red catches your eye above. you blink, realization dawning.

“uh” you say, unsure why you decide to point it out to her. “is that what i think it is?” you point upwards and shauna’s eyes follow your outstretched finger. her brow furrow as she tilts her head. when she spots the mistletoe hanging right above you both, her lips part in a soft, “oh,”

her eyes flick back to yours, and you can see the faintest hint of pink coloring her cheeks, though she quickly tries to hide it with a quiet laugh. “well, that’s…festive”

you snort, crossing your arms. “that’s one way to put it”

for a moment, neither of you moves. shauna shifts on her feet, her fingers toying with the hem of her sweater. you swear you see her glance at your lips, but it’s so quick you could’ve imagined it.

“i mean,” she starts, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, “it’s not like we have to follow the…rules or whatever”

her voice is teasing, but there’s an undercurrent of nervous energy, as if she’s testing the waters. you raise an eyebrow, stepping just a little closer.

“if you know what i’m saying…” shauna trails off.

“i mean, it’s tradition, right?” you manage. thank god you’re still a little tipsy, otherwise you would’ve fled the scene immediately. or, at least, you would not have the courage for any of this. “what if we get, like, bad luck? is that a thing? can you get bad luck from ignoring a mistletoe?” now you’re just rambling, and shauna crosses her arms over her chest, grinning at you bemusedly.

the tension is suddenly palpable; warm, even in the winter air that surrounds you.

“look” you tell her. “if you’re not into it, we can just-“

shauna takes the final step forward, cutting you off completely. her chest bumps against yours gently, and suddenly, the rest of your sentence vanishes into the crisp night air.

“you talk too much” she mumbles with a grin. 

and, just like that, the decision is made.

when you lean in to kiss her and shauna meets you halfway, the world seems to pause around you and everything else fades. the muffled sound of music from inside, the chill, the distant chatter of the party. it’s just her.

it starts soft and hesitant, like neither of you wants to rush or break whatever fragile thing this moment is. her lips are warm, a sharp contrast to the frosty air, and there’s a sweetness in the way she moves, as if she’s unsure but still very much willing to take the leap.

shauna’s hand brushes your cheek lightly, her fingertips barely grazing your skin like she’s afraid to press too hard, afraid you might pull away. but you don’t, you can’t. instead, your hands find their way to her waist, settling there through the thick layers of her winter clothes. you hold her there to ground yourself in this unexpected moment.

when shauna deepens the kiss just slightly, it’s as if she’s letting out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, finally allowing herself to melt into you.

the weight of her hand moves to the back of your neck, her touch growing bolder, more confident.

all tension from earlier seems to melt away as you get familiar with the way her lips move against yours slowly and she tilts her head just so, her mouth fitting more perfectly against yours.

when the kiss does break, eventually, her forehead rests against your own briefly and shauna’s eyes flutter open. her lips quirk into a small, self-conscious smile, and she lets out a nervous laugh.

“well,” she murmurs, her cheeks flushed. “i think the mistletoe did its job”

“i think it did” you tell her, softly brushing another strand of hair from her face.

the mistletoe still dangles above you by the time you two part. shauna’s small laugh fades into a soft sigh, and she takes half a step back, just enough to create space without fully letting go of you, unsure whether or not this moment is over.

“so…you’re not terrible at that,” you tease, trying to break the silence but your voice comes out softer than intended.

shauna smirks. “oh, i’ll take ‘not terrible.’ high praise, considering”

for a second, you both stand there, the distant hum of the party a low white noise neither of you really hears. you wonder if you should say something, offer to get her a drink, ask if she wants to sit down, but shauna speaks first.

“so, uh…” she hesitates. “was this just…a one time thing? are you gonna let me know the next time there’s mistletoe around?”

you tilt your head. “well, i wouldn’t want to leave it up to chance. maybe we should exchange numbers, you know? just to be safe”

“okay. yeah. that sounds…smart. very practical!”

shauna lets out a soft chuckle, nodding as you dig through your jacket pocket. you find a pen, thankfully, and hand it over to her. she takes your arm gently, holding it steady as she scrawls her number on your forearm. she even adds her name above the digits before she hands the pen back to you, her fingers brushing yours briefly.

“what about you, though?” she asks conversationally once you’ve taken it back. “do you come to these frat parties often? or are you just really dedicated to holiday traditions?”

you grin, shaking your head. “it’s not my usual scene. either. but…i’m glad i came tonight”

the words slip out before you can overthink them, and shauna’s lips part slightly, like she hadn’t expected you to put it like that. for a second, she doesn’t respond, but then she nods, her smile growing softer.

“yeah. me too”

[kayewrite]

Accidentally in Love

Bangchan x reader!!! chan x reader!! word count: 10.1k

genre: fluff and a little bit of angst. strangers to lovers!!

Summary: You were so careless. You always caught accidents!-- but then you met chan-- accidentally, was is still because of your carelessness? then.. you should do it again.

an: i know today was our midterms week but then why i cannot help but to post TT. anyways. please read it <3

What’s an accident?

Well, an accident is when you’re crossing the street, minding your own business, and suddenly a biker flips over because you may have accidentally stepped into the bike lane without noticing. “Sorry!” you call out, but honestly, how do you apologize for something so awkward?

Or maybe an accident is when you try to send a selfie to your best friend to show off your new hair, but you mistype the number and end up sending it to your mom’s boss. Now they have a picture of your duck face saved on their phone, and your mom will never let you live it down.

Oh, and don’t forget that one time you were playing catch, and somehow the ball decided to fly out of your hand in the completely wrong direction and smack someone in the face. “Oops!” isn’t going to make that less embarrassing.

These were all accidents, but honestly, you’ve started to notice a pattern here: you’re a little careless. Scratch that—you’re very careless. So careless, in fact, that even the simplest things seem to go wrong.

And now, thanks to all these accidental mess-ups, you’ve become so self-conscious that you’re a little too shy to even attempt anything without worrying you’ll mess it up.

“Ms. Kim, I swear it was an accident!” you practically begged, standing in front of your English teacher with wide, apologetic eyes. You had no assignment to present because, well… your homework somehow ended up floating in the school fountain. It had looked so promising this morning. Until it went for a swim.

Ms. Kim raised an eyebrow, but after a long sigh, she gave you a sympathetic look. “Alright, I’ll forgive you this time. But try to be more careful.”

“Yes, Ms. Kim! I promise! Thank you, and I’m so sorry again!” You rushed back to your seat, hoping to avoid further embarrassment, but of course, your best friend Chae was waiting with a grin that told you she’d witnessed the entire thing.

“I’m never going to let you live this down, you know,” she teased, leaning over with a wicked smirk.

You rolled your eyes dramatically. “Haha, very funny.”

Chae laughed. “You know, you could’ve just copied my assignment if you’d told me earlier.”

You let out a huff. “It was supposed to be an original poem, Chae. I’m reminding you for the hundredth time!”

“Oh, right.” She waved it off with a laugh, clearly enjoying your misfortune.

The class finally ended, and you and Chae headed to the cafeteria, where the usual chaos of students trying to grab food filled the air. Trays clattered, voices overlapped, and the smell of fried food lingered as you navigated through the bustling crowd. You had your tray of food in hand, carefully balancing it as if it were the most delicate thing in the world.

“Please, not today,” you whispered to yourself, praying that for once, nothing would go wrong.

But of course, in classic "you" fashion, the universe wasn’t going to let you off that easily.

Just as you turned a corner, completely zoned out, you collided with someone walking in the opposite direction. BAM. The impact sent your tray flying. You could only watch in horror as your drink splashed all over the guy’s shirt. Food scattered everywhere, some of it landing on his shoes.

“Oh my gosh!” you shrieked, nearly dropping everything else in your hands. Napkins, where are the napkins? You grabbed a bunch from your tray, your hands trembling as you tried to wipe the stain off his uniform. “I’m so, so sorry! I didn’t mean to—I swear I wasn’t looking! Oh no, look what I did…”

The guy looked down at his soaked shirt, momentarily surprised. His hair had a few strands out of place, but despite the mess, his face softened. He didn’t seem angry at all, which only made you feel worse.

“It’s okay,” he said gently, offering you a small, reassuring smile. His voice was calm, like he was trying to stop a nervous kitten from freaking out. “Really. It was just an accident.”

But you were beyond saving at this point. Your heart was hammering, and your hands wouldn’t stop shaking as you dabbed at his shirt, which now looked worse with the blotchy wet patches.

“No, no! This is my fault. I’m so sorry! I’ll fix it, I promise. I’ll wash it for you! Let me make it right!” Your voice came out in a frantic rush as you looked up at him, your eyes wide and pleading.

The guy chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You don’t have to do that. I have an extra shirt in my locker.”

“But it’s my fault!” you insisted, still dabbing uselessly at his uniform. Your eyes welled up with frustration—how could you be so careless? Again?! This was just like all the other times where accidents seemed to follow you, and this time it wasn’t just a ruined poem or a floating homework assignment. You had ruined someone’s day.

He noticed your teary eyes and sighed, his smile turning a little softer. “Look, I promise, it’s fine. I can handle a little spill.”

But your guilt wouldn’t let you accept that. “No! I—I can’t let it go like this. You don’t understand! I’ll feel terrible all day.” Without waiting for him to protest further, you grabbed his arm and gently tugged him in the direction of the nearest comfort room. “Please, let me fix this.”

His eyes widened in surprise at how determined you were. “Wait, what? Where are we going?”

“To fix your shirt!” you declared, leading him away as if it was a life-or-death mission. You handed him your jacket to cover the stain, holding it up like a shield in front of him. “You can’t walk around like this! It’s—ugh, I feel so bad. What’s your locker number?”

He laughed at how serious you were. “Arts department. But really, this is too much.”

Your head whipped around to look at him. “Arts department? No way! Mine too!” Your eyes widened in realization.

How had you never noticed him before? How could someone like him, with that gentle smile and calm voice, be so… handsome? You couldn’t stop staring at him, and suddenly, you felt even more flustered.

When you reached his locker, he pulled out a clean shirt. “See? I’m all set now. You can go back and eat,” he said, trying to brush it off, but you were having none of it.

“Absolutely not!” you said, crossing your arms in defiance. “I’m not leaving until I make sure everything is fixed.”

He let out another laugh, shaking his head at your stubbornness. “You’re really not going to let this go, huh?”

“Nope,” you replied firmly, standing your ground. He seemed amused by your persistence, but also a little impressed.

As you walked toward the comfort room, he glanced at you. “You know you left your food behind, right?”

“It’s fine,” you muttered, though your stomach betrayed you by grumbling at that exact moment. You cringed, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

He chuckled, his voice light and teasing. “Sounds like your stomach disagrees.”

You couldn’t help but smile a little despite your guilt. His laughter was contagious, and even though you were still panicking inside, something about his calmness was starting to settle your nerves.

By the time you reached the comfort room, you had relaxed enough to have a normal conversation. “Why are you so calm about this?” you asked as he went inside to change. “If someone did this to me, I’d be freaking out.”

“I’ve had worse accidents happen,” he called from inside, his voice echoing slightly. “This is nothing.”

You paced outside, tapping your foot nervously. Worse accidents? What could possibly be worse than having your entire lunch dumped on you? You shook your head, trying to calm yourself down.

When he finally came out, you froze. Time seemed to slow down as he ran a hand through his wet hair, his clean shirt clinging to his frame. The droplets of water sliding down his neck caught the light, making him look… well, really good. Your heart skipped a beat, and before you knew it, it was racing like it was trying to tell you something you weren’t quite ready to hear.

“See? All fixed,” he said, flashing that same comforting smile.

You nodded, but your thoughts were far from calm. Why is my heart doing this? It was as if everything about this moment was trying to make you notice something you’d never felt before. Something fluttery and confusing, but undeniably there.

You got quiet for a moment, staring up at him, completely lost in thought. His wet hair, the way his shirt clung to him, that easy smile—it was like everything else around you blurred, and for just a second, you forgot where you were.

“Hello? Earth to you?” he teased, snapping his fingers in front of your face.

You blinked, snapping out of your daze. “Oh! Uh, right, yes. It’s done,” you mumbled awkwardly, stepping back and fumbling with the sleeves of your jacket. Your face felt like it was on fire, and you wished you could disappear right then and there.

He laughed, a soft, easy sound that made your heart skip a beat again. “You sure? You look a little lost.”

“No, no! I’m totally fine!” you said, waving your hands in front of you. “I can go now.”

Before you could make your great escape, he stepped closer, extending his hand toward you with that same amused smile.

“I’m Chan, by the way,” he said, his hand hanging in the air between you two.

For a moment, you just stared at his outstretched hand, your brain working overtime to process what was happening. Chan. His name is Chan. You reached out slowly, feeling the warmth of his hand as your fingers met his.

Your voice barely came out, still a little shaken from the chaos of the last few minutes. “I—I’m…”

He raised an eyebrow, waiting patiently.

“I’m… just really sorry again,” you blurted out, completely missing the introduction moment, but he only laughed more, shaking your hand.

“Nice to meet you, really sorry,” he joked, his smile growing wider.

You felt your cheeks heat up even more. “No, no! I mean, I’m—” You cleared your throat, trying to gather your thoughts. “I’m y/n.”

His eyes sparkled with amusement. “Well, y/n , it’s nice to meet you too. Even under… interesting circumstances.”

You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, the tension starting to lift. “Yeah… sorry about the whole… you know.”

He waved it off like it was nothing. “Trust me, this is one of the more entertaining things that’s happened to me this week.”

You smiled, feeling a little more at ease. He was so easygoing, so calm, and it made the situation feel less like a disaster and more like a… funny mishap. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, feeling the weight of your guilt finally easing up.

But as you looked at him again, standing there, smiling at you like this was the most natural thing in the world, that flutter in your chest returned. Why am I still nervous?

“Hey,” Chan said, breaking your train of thought. “If it makes you feel better, I’m glad we bumped into each other.” He winked playfully, and before you could respond, he added, “I mean, now I know there’s someone who cares enough to make sure my shirt’s spotless.”

You bit your lip, trying not to smile too widely. “Yeah, well… I couldn’t just leave you like that.”

Chan grinned, giving you a quick nod. “I appreciate it. Anyway, I’ll see you around, y/n.”

And just like that, he turned to leave, but something inside you wanted to stop him. You stood there for a moment, watching as he walked away, your mind still reeling from everything that had just happened.

What just happened? You thought as you absently touched your hand where his had been moments ago.

Days passed, and you went back to your usual routine as the good student you were—well, the good student who occasionally made accidents. You submitted your assignments on time, participated in class, and did everything as you should. But no matter how busy you were, there was always a lingering thought in the back of your mind. A name that kept coming back to you: Chan.

After that incident in the cafeteria, you hadn’t seen him again. It was as if he’d vanished into thin air, leaving you with nothing but the memory of his laugh and that smile. You weren’t sure why you kept thinking about him. It wasn’t like anything major had happened, right? Just an accident. And yet…

“Your drawing is really nice,” Jeongin’s voice snapped you back to reality. He leaned over, studying your work on the easel with an approving nod.

You blinked, looking at your painting. It was your class in the arts department, and you’d been lost in thought, working quietly. But now that you looked at what you’d painted, your eyes widened.

It was a man. A man with soft features, standing against a background of delicate flowers. The detail in his face, the way his eyes seemed to hold a quiet kindness… it hit you like a ton of bricks. Chan. You painted Chan.

“What—” you muttered, staring in disbelief. “Did I just…?”

You turned to Jeongin, who was giving you a confused look. “What’s wrong? Did you paint that by accident or something?” he teased, not realizing how spot on he was.

Your face flushed. “I—uh—no, it’s just…”

“Come on, it looks really good,” Jeongin said with a grin. “You should be proud of it.”

You laughed nervously. How did I not realize I was painting him? You thought, staring at the canvas. The flowers around him gave the whole thing an almost dreamlike quality, and the expression on his face was so familiar it made your stomach flip. What is wrong with me?

Before you could process it, the teacher walked around the room, acknowledging everyone’s work. “Alright, class, it’s time for everyone to explain their paintings,” she announced, clapping her hands to gather everyone’s attention.

Oh no. You glanced at your painting again, heart racing. How were you going to explain this?

As each student took their turn, you grew more and more anxious. And when it was finally your turn, you stood in front of the class, staring at the painting as if it might offer you some kind of excuse for what you’d done.

“So,” the teacher prompted, “tell us about your work.”

You swallowed hard, gripping your hands together. “Uh, well… this is a… um…” You stuttered, completely lost for words. What do I say?!

Jeongin, sitting in the back, raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your nervousness.

“I—uh, I painted a man,” you started lamely, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks. “With, um… flowers.” Great. Very insightful.

The class waited, but you had no idea how to continue. “The flowers are, um… a representation of…” Oh no, why did I paint flowers? You stared at them, desperately trying to come up with something meaningful to say.

“…of how fragile and… fleeting moments can be?” you mumbled, hoping it sounded deep. You heard a few murmurs of approval from your classmates, and you exhaled in relief. Okay, not bad so far.

“And the man?” the teacher asked, her head tilted as she studied your work.

You froze. The man. Oh no.

“I, uh, I didn’t really plan on… painting him. He just… kind of happened?” You winced at your own explanation. The teacher raised an eyebrow, but thankfully, she didn’t press further.

“Well,” she said after a pause, “it’s beautifully done. Accidental or not, you’ve captured a lot of emotion here.”

You nodded stiffly, trying to suppress the rising panic inside you. Emotion? I didn’t even realize I was painting Chan!

As you sat back down, Jeongin leaned over with a smirk. “So… did the flowers represent how ‘fleeting’ your accidental crush is?” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I don’t have a crush!”

“Uh-huh. Sure,” he said with a knowing grin. “You keep telling yourself that.”

One day, as you were walking down the hallway, your arms full of books and your mind racing, you couldn’t stop mumbling to yourself. The upcoming oral examination was consuming your thoughts, and you found yourself counting the names of famous artists on your fingers, trying to memorize them.

“Okay, Picasso… Monet… Van Gogh… oh, and Da Vinci…” you muttered, completely focused on your mental checklist.

Just as you rounded a corner, you collided with someone. Your books flew out of your hands, scattering across the floor with a loud thud. “Oh no! I’m so sorry!” you blurted out, dropping to your knees to gather your belongings.

“Hey, it’s fine!” a familiar voice replied. You glanced up, and your heart skipped a beat. It was Chan.

“We meet again,” he said, a playful smile lighting up his face as he helped you collect your scattered books.

“Wow, what are the odds?” you replied, still a bit in shock. “It seems we have a knack for bumping into each other… literally.” You couldn’t help but laugh, a bit embarrassed by the situation.

He chuckled, his laughter warm and inviting. “Yeah, at this rate, we might as well call it fate,” he joked, handing you the last of your books.

You stood up, brushing off your pants and trying to regain your composure. “This time, I was so focused on artists that I completely forgot to look where I was going,” you admitted, a sheepish grin on your face. “What about you? Are you just wandering the hallways, waiting for your next accidental encounter?”

Chan raised an eyebrow, pretending to think. “Maybe I’m just here to collect the most interesting stories,” he replied, a teasing glint in his eyes. “And you, my friend, seem to be a goldmine.”

You felt a rush of warmth at his words, a playful banter sparking between you. “Well, if that’s the case, I should probably start charging you for my accidental stories,” you shot back, enjoying the lightness of the moment.

“I’m all for it,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning slightly against the wall, making himself comfortable. “So, what else do you have planned for today, besides running into me?”

You hesitated, your nerves creeping back as you remembered your oral exam. “Just… trying to survive this exam,” you admitted, biting your lip. “I have to present on famous artists, and I keep mixing up their names.”

Chan’s expression softened, and he nodded in understanding. “You’ll be great, I’m sure. If you want, I can help you practice later. I mean, I have some free time in the arts department.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Did he just offer to help me? “Really? That would be amazing! I could definitely use some backup,” you replied, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves.

“Perfect! Just let me know when you’re ready,” he said, flashing that signature smile that made your heart race. “And try not to bump into anyone else on your way to the exam, okay?”

You laughed again, feeling lighter than you had all day. “No promises! I might have a talent for accidents.”

With a final wave, he turned to leave, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that this encounter was different—something more than just another accident. Your thoughts raced as you watched him walk away, the hallway buzzing with energy. You had a lot to prepare for, but suddenly, the day felt a little brighter.

As the days passed, you found yourself wishing for those unexpected encounters with Chan every time you walked through the hallways. Maybe if I just keep my eyes peeled… But it seemed like the universe had a sense of humor; you only ever bumped into him when you least expected it—just like the last time.

Today, you were on a mission. You needed a specific art book for your upcoming project, and, of course, it was stored on the highest shelf in the library. Determined to get your hands on it, you made your way to the stairs, your heart racing with the hope that maybe, just maybe, you’d see him again.

You climbed the stairs, reaching for the book that was tantalizingly out of reach. Just as you stretched your arm up, your foot slipped slightly on the step, and in a split second, you stumbled backward, teetering precariously.

“Whoa!” a familiar voice called out, and before you could process it, Chan was right there, steadying you with a firm grip on your arm. “Careful there! Looks like you’re trying to give gravity a run for its money.”

You blinked in surprise, your heart pounding—not just from the near mishap but from his unexpected presence. “Chan! I didn’t see you there!” you exclaimed, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“Clearly,” he replied, his lips curving into that teasing smile that always made your heart skip. “What’s the goal here? Trying to become a librarian superhero?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, I was just trying to get this book.” You gestured to the high shelf, and he raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Do you need a hand?” he offered, glancing up at the shelf. “I’m pretty sure I can reach that without turning it into a circus act.”

You nodded, grateful for his help. “That would be amazing! I think I’d break the library record for most accidents in one visit if I tried again.”

As he stepped closer to the shelf, you couldn’t help but admire the way he moved with ease. He reached up, effortlessly grabbing the book and handing it to you. “Here you go, the hero of the day.”

You took the book from him, your fingers brushing against his for just a moment. “Thank you! You’ve saved my day.”

He shrugged, playfully nonchalant. “Just doing my part to help a fellow artist avoid disaster.” There was a pause, and you both shared a laugh, the air between you crackling with an easy connection.

“So, what’s this one about?” he asked, glancing at the cover.

“It’s about different art movements throughout history,” you said, opening the book to show him some of the illustrations. “I thought it would help with my project, but I got sidetracked with all the high shelves.”

“Maybe we should have a study session later,” he suggested, leaning casually against the shelf, making it seem like the most natural thing in the world. “I can help you brainstorm some ideas, and we can avoid any more… accidents.”

You felt a flutter of excitement in your chest. “That sounds great! I’d love the company.”

“Perfect! Just let me know when you’re free,” he replied, flashing that charming smile again. “And try not to climb any more shelves in the meantime.”

As you watched him leave, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. Each accidental encounter felt like a step closer to something more, and you found yourself wishing that every day could be filled with these little moments.

You were placing your things in your locker one day when you noticed him—Chan—just a few lockers down. Your heart fluttered at the sight of him, and you couldn’t help but smile as you organized your books.

This time, it felt different. You weren’t colliding into him by chance; you were actually seeing him on purpose. “Hi!” you greeted, your voice brighter than you intended.

“Hello,” he replied, his eyes lighting up at the sight of you.

You hesitated for a moment, a thousand thoughts racing through your mind. Finally, you took a breath and said, “Do you have time today? I’m going to brainstorm some ideas for my project at a café.”

He paused, considering it for a moment. “I have lots of time,” he said, a grin spreading across his face. “What café are you thinking of?”

You felt a rush of excitement at his eagerness. “There’s that little one down the street, the one with the comfy chairs and those amazing pastries,” you said, your enthusiasm bubbling over. “I could really use a fresh perspective.”

“Sounds perfect. I’m in,” he said, closing his locker and leaning against it casually. “When do you want to head over?”

“Right now?” you suggested, feeling a little nervous but also thrilled at the idea of spending more time with him. “I have my books, and I could really use some caffeine to kickstart my creativity.”

“Let’s do it!” he replied, his enthusiasm contagious. He gestured for you to lead the way, and as you walked side by side down the hallway, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness.

As you exited the school, the warm sunlight enveloped you, and the hustle and bustle of the outside world filled your ears. You glanced at Chan, who walked with an easy confidence. “So, what do you want to brainstorm about?” he asked, looking over at you with genuine interest.

“Well, I’m thinking about how to blend different art movements for my project. I want to create something that reflects both modern and classical styles,” you explained, your thoughts starting to flow.

“I love that idea!” he said, nodding enthusiastically. “You could play with color palettes and textures from different eras. That could really bring your piece to life.”

As you talked, you found yourself more at ease with each passing moment. The café came into view, and you felt a rush of anticipation. “Here it is! I hope they still have those pastries,” you said, glancing up at the sign.

“Oh, they do. Trust me, I’ve been here enough to know their secret menu,” he said with a mischievous grin. “You’re in for a treat.”

Once inside, you ordered your drinks and pastries, and found a cozy table by the window. The atmosphere buzzed with the sound of chatter and clinking cups, adding to the warmth of the moment.

You both settled in, and as you opened your notebook to jot down ideas, you felt a thrill of inspiration rush through you. “Okay, let’s brainstorm!” you said, eager to dive into your project with Chan by your side.

His presence made everything feel easier, and as you exchanged ideas, laughter, and stories, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the start of something wonderful—something that wasn’t just an accident.

Ever since that day, meeting Chan had become the most exciting part of your routine. Each moment spent with him made your heart race, and the days felt brighter.

“Thank you so much! My project received a nice grade,” you said, your eyes sparkling with gratitude.

“You deserve it,” Chan replied, his smile warm and encouraging. “Your hard work really paid off.”

Feeling a rush of happiness, you mustered the courage to ask, “Are you free today? I want to treat you to something nice to say thanks.”

Chan tilted his head, considering. “I have something to do, but who would let a free meal pass by?” He chuckled, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Perfect! Let’s go to that new restaurant that just opened downtown. I’ve heard they have amazing food,” you suggested, unable to contain your excitement.

“Lead the way!” he said, his enthusiasm matching yours.

As you made your way to the restaurant, the atmosphere buzzed with energy. The sun was shining brightly, and the warm breeze wrapped around you, making everything feel perfect.

Once you arrived, the tantalizing aroma of delicious dishes greeted you at the door. You both stepped inside, and after being seated at a cozy table, you glanced over the menu.

“Everything looks so good! I don’t even know where to start,” you said, biting your lip in indecision.

“Let’s order a bunch of things to share. It’s more fun that way!” Chan suggested, his eyes twinkling with excitement.

You both decided on a variety of dishes, and as you waited for the food, the conversation flowed effortlessly. You talked about everything—your favorite movies, music, and even your childhood dreams.

“I wanted to be an astronaut for the longest time,” Chan admitted with a laugh. “But then I realized I get dizzy just from spinning around in circles. So much for that dream!”

You laughed, picturing him in a space suit, and then replied, “At least you’re realistic! I wanted to be an artist, but then I discovered I’m more of a ‘creative disaster’ than anything else.”

“Hey, you’re an amazing artist! Look at that project of yours,” he said, gesturing to your notebook resting on the table. “It shows how creative you really are.”

You felt your cheeks warm at his compliment. “Thanks, Chan. That means a lot coming from you.”

Just then, the server arrived with a feast of colorful dishes, and the two of you dove in, sharing bites and savoring each flavor. Laughter filled the air as you both shared stories and friendly banter, each moment deepening your connection.

“This is the best meal I’ve had in ages,” you said between bites, a satisfied grin on your face.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it! I have to admit, I was a little worried you wouldn’t want to hang out with me again after our first ‘accidental’ meeting,” Chan said, a teasing tone in his voice.

“Are you kidding? Those accidents turned out to be the best thing that’s happened to me!” you replied, your heart racing at the thought of how lucky you felt.

As you continued to eat, you realized that these moments with Chan were becoming something you looked forward to every day. The laughter, the food, and the warmth of his presence made you feel alive. And you couldn’t help but wonder where this unexpected journey with him might lead.

One day, as you were walking down the hallway, your heart raced at the thought of bumping into Chan again—not literally bumping, of course. You kept glancing around the corners, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, and your smile widened when you finally spotted him at the end of the hall.

He was really handsome, and the way he brushed his hair back only added to his charm. Without thinking, you picked up your pace, practically running to him.

“Hi!” you exclaimed, trying to catch your breath.

“Hey there!” Chan replied, his face lighting up at your enthusiasm.

“What are you up to?” you asked, trying to sound casual even though you were bursting with excitement at seeing him again.

“I’m working on a project for my photography class,” he explained, adjusting the camera strap slung over his shoulder. “Just trying to find some inspiration.”

“Do you need help?” you offered, eager to spend more time with him.

“Yeah, that would be awesome! Thank you!” he said, visibly relieved.

You both decided to head to the nearest park, where Chan could take pictures of the vibrant scenery. As you arrived, the sun peeked through the trees, casting dappled shadows on the ground. The air was fresh and filled with the sounds of chirping birds and rustling leaves.

You watched as he captured shots of the flowers blooming, the trees swaying in the gentle breeze, and the ducks swimming lazily in the pond. Every now and then, you noticed his brows furrowing in concentration as he reviewed the images.

“Are you happy with those?” you asked, stepping closer to him.

“Not quite,” he admitted, letting out a sigh. “It just feels like something is missing.”

“Maybe try capturing something more candid,” you suggested, trying to help. “Like when someone is laughing or playing in the park. Those moments can tell a story.”

Chan looked at you with a spark of inspiration in his eyes. “That’s a great idea! Let’s wait for some people to come by and see what happens.”

As you both waited, you continued to chat and joke around, enjoying each other’s company. Finally, a group of children ran past, laughing and chasing each other. Chan’s camera clicked rapidly as he captured their joyful energy.

“See? That’s the kind of moment I was talking about!” you said, beaming at him.

“I see it now! Thank you for your help!” Chan said, his eyes shining with excitement. “You really have a good eye for this.”

You felt a warm rush of pride at his compliment, and as you watched him work, you couldn’t help but admire how passionate he was about photography.

After taking several more pictures, Chan turned to you, a grin spreading across his face. “Let’s get a picture of us together! It’ll be a fun memory.”

“Oh, I don’t know…” you said, feeling a mix of excitement and shyness.

“Come on! It’ll be great. Plus, I need to document our collaboration,” he insisted, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

You relented, and he set the timer on his camera before rushing back to stand beside you. As the camera clicked, you both laughed, and you felt a warmth in your heart that made you forget your nerves.

“Perfect!” Chan said, reviewing the picture. “We look awesome together.”

You felt your cheeks flush at the compliment, and for a moment, everything around you faded away, leaving just the two of you and the budding connection that was blossoming. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this day was just another beautiful accident that led you closer to Chan.

It was midterms day, and the library buzzed with the nervous energy of students cramming for their exams. You sat at a table piled high with notes, textbooks, and a half-empty coffee cup, trying to absorb as much information as possible.

Suddenly, you felt a presence beside you. You looked up to see Chan sliding into the chair next to yours, his backpack slung over one shoulder. “Hey, ready for this?” he asked, a playful glint in his eyes.

“Not even close,” you admitted, running a hand through your hair in frustration. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around all this material.”

“Need a study buddy?” he offered, pulling out his own notes. “I could use a break from memorizing everything too. We can help each other out!”

“Sure, that sounds great!” you replied, relieved to have his company.

As the two of you delved into your notes, discussing concepts and quizzing each other, the atmosphere shifted from one of stress to camaraderie. With every question Chan asked, your confidence grew, and soon you found yourself explaining things more clearly.

“Wow, you really know your stuff!” Chan remarked, his expression genuinely impressed.

You felt a blush creeping up your cheeks at the compliment. “Thanks! I guess all the late nights are finally paying off,” you said, trying to play it cool.

After a couple of hours of intense studying, you both took a break, stretching and grabbing a quick snack from the café. As you were chatting and laughing, a group of your friends passed by and stopped to gawk at the scene.

“Hey, what’s going on here?” one of your friends asked, raising an eyebrow. “Are you two… studying together?”

“Yeah, just helping each other out,” you said, trying to sound casual, but your heart raced at their teasing tone.

Your friend nudged you playfully. “Helping each other out? Is that all?” They smirked knowingly.

“Uh, he’s just a friend,” you stammered, suddenly unsure of how to explain your connection to Chan. The truth was, he felt like more than just a friend, but you didn’t know how to articulate that.

“Sure, a friend,” your friend teased, winking at you. “It looks like there’s something more going on!”

Chan chuckled, clearly amused by the situation, and you felt a rush of embarrassment at the attention. “We really are just studying,” he assured them, his tone light and playful.

“Okay, okay,” your friend said, holding up their hands in mock surrender. “We’ll let you two get back to it. But don’t forget to let us know when you finally admit it!”

As they walked away, you couldn’t help but glance at Chan, who was still smiling at the exchange. “Sorry about that,” you said, feeling a mix of embarrassment and nervousness. “I didn’t mean to make it seem like… well, you know.”

Chan shook his head, still grinning. “Don’t worry about it. I mean, it is nice to spend time with you. We make a good team.”

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at his words. “Yeah, we really do,” you agreed, a soft smile creeping onto your face.

As you settled back into your study session, the moment hung in the air between you—a promise of something more than just friendship, waiting to be explored.

The midterms had drained you completely. The lack of sleep and the stress from weeks of studying had finally taken their toll. You promised yourself that after the last exam, you would treat yourself to a good night’s sleep and a juicy steak—something to celebrate the end of your academic agony.

When the final exam wrapped up, a rush of exhilaration surged through you. You couldn’t help but throw your papers into the air, your laughter mingling with that of your friends. It was a celebration—freedom at last!

“Who’s ready to party?” one of your friends shouted, and the group erupted into cheers.

“I’m calling Chan!” you exclaimed, feeling a burst of happiness. You pulled out your phone, dialing his number, but after a few rings, it went to voicemail. You frowned, thinking he must be busy with his own post-exam plans. Shrugging it off, you put your phone away and joined your friends, who were already dancing to the music blasting from the speakers.

That night, you found yourself at the nearest bar, the energy around you vibrant and electric. You ordered a drink, savoring the coolness as it slid down your throat, and soon the dance floor called to you. You let loose, dancing and laughing, feeling all the stress melt away with each beat of the music.

After a few drinks, you felt invincible. You spun around, arms wide open, embracing the joy of the moment. That was when you noticed him.

Not too far away, standing at the bar with a drink in hand, was Chan. He looked relaxed in a casual outfit, chatting and laughing with a couple of friends. Your heart skipped a beat. It was the first time you’d seen him for first day of midterms, and somehow, he looked even more handsome in the dim light of the bar.

You felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. Should you approach him? The thought made your stomach flutter. But as you watched him, you noticed he hadn’t seen you yet.

Deciding to make your move, you grabbed your drink and wove your way through the crowd, the music thumping in your ears. When you finally reached him, he turned, and his eyes lit up with surprise.

“Hey! Fancy seeing you here!” Chan exclaimed, his smile wide and genuine.

“Hey! I just finished my exams, so I thought I’d celebrate,” you said, trying to keep your tone light despite the fluttering in your chest. “What about you?”

“Same here! I needed a break after all that studying,” he replied, leaning slightly closer, making it easier to hear each other over the music. “Looks like you’re having a good time.”

“I am! I thought I’d treat myself, you know?” You took a sip of your drink, feeling a bit more confident. “How about you? Are you enjoying your night?”

“Definitely! It’s nice to unwind,” he said, glancing around the bar. “You should come join us. We’re about to play some pool.”

You felt a surge of excitement at the invitation. “Sounds fun! Let’s go!”

As you walked toward the pool table together, the noise of the bar faded away, leaving just the two of you in your own little bubble. Your heart raced at the thought of spending time with him, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that this night might be the beginning of something special.

Chan led you to the pool table, where a group of his friends was gathered. The atmosphere was lively, laughter and playful banter filling the air.

“This is Han,” he said, pointing to a tall guy with a warm smile. “He’s the best pool player here—don’t let him fool you with that innocent face.”

Han grinned, nudging Chan playfully. “Yeah, right. You’re just scared I’ll beat you again!”

“And this,” Chan continued, gesturing to a guy who was sprawled over the table, “is Seungmin. Don’t mind him; he’s just being dramatic.”

Seungmin lifted his head slightly, a smirk on his face. “Hey! I’m just conserving my energy for my inevitable victory,” he quipped before flopping back down, causing everyone to chuckle.

“..over there is Yuni,” Chan said, nodding toward a girl with vibrant hair and an infectious smile who was chatting animatedly with another friend. However, as she caught sight of you standing next to Chan, her expression shifted slightly. There was something in her gaze, a hint of judgment that made you feel self-conscious, as if she was silently questioning why you were with him.

You smiled at the lively introductions, trying to shake off the unease. “It’s great to meet you all! Chan’s been telling me a bit about you,” you said, glancing at Chan, who was trying to look innocent.

“Only good things, right?” Chan interjected with a playful grin, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Of course!” you laughed, enjoying the banter, but you couldn’t shake off Yuni’s penetrating look.

“So, what’s the plan?” Han asked, leaning against the table. “Are we playing a round of pool, or is it too easy for you guys?”

Chan glanced at you, raising an eyebrow. “How about a little wager? Loser buys the next round of drinks.”

“Deal!” you replied, excitement bubbling up inside you, determined to prove yourself. “But I’m going to win.”

Seungmin raised his head just enough to give you a mock salute. “Good luck with that!”

As Chan set up the game, you could feel Yuni’s eyes on you, scrutinizing your every move. It made you slightly anxious, but you tried to focus on the game instead. The atmosphere felt more relaxed among Chan's friends, and it made you feel like you were part of something special. Chan’s presence was comforting, and you found yourself stealing glances at him, your heart racing every time your eyes met.

“Alright, let’s see what you’ve got!” Chan challenged, holding the cue stick with a confident grin. You couldn’t help but smile back, ready to take on the challenge, even if Yuni’s judgment lingered at the back of your mind.

The game began, and you focused intently on the table. Chan broke first, sending the balls scattering across the green felt. His movements were fluid and confident, and you admired the way he handled the cue stick.

“Nice shot!” Han cheered, clapping him on the back as the solid balls spread across the table. Chan beamed, clearly enjoying the attention.

“Your turn,” Chan said, stepping aside and motioning for you to take your shot. You felt a rush of excitement mixed with nerves as you approached the table, trying to shake off Yuni's scrutinizing gaze.

You lined up your shot, taking a deep breath to steady your nerves. “Here goes nothing,” you mumbled to yourself. With a swift motion, you struck the cue ball, watching it collide with the colored balls. You sunk a solid, and a rush of exhilaration washed over you.

“Wow, not bad!” Chan said, genuine admiration in his voice.

“You’re going to have to do better than that!” you replied playfully, trying to channel the confidence you felt.

As the game continued, laughter and friendly banter filled the air. You found yourself lost in the moment, enjoying the thrill of competition and the company of Chan and his friends. You occasionally caught Yuni’s gaze again, but this time, you shrugged it off.

You and Chan worked well together, each of you strategizing and laughing through the ups and downs of the game. “I think we make a pretty good team,” Chan said, grinning at you after you executed a tricky shot.

“Team? I thought we were opponents!” you teased back, leaning on the table with a playful smile.

“Fine, but I’m going to crush you next round,” he shot back, feigning a fierce glare.

The game was intense, with each of you sinking balls and trying to outsmart the other. After a particularly close shot where you barely missed sinking the eight ball, you groaned dramatically, drawing laughter from the group.

“Come on, you can do better than that!” Seungmin teased, lifting his head for a moment to join in the laughter.

“Hey, I’m still getting used to the pressure of having such talented players around me!” you shot back, winking at him.

Eventually, the game came down to the last ball, and the tension in the air was palpable. You took a moment to breathe, steadying your hands as you lined up your shot.

“Just focus,” Chan whispered, stepping close enough that you could feel his warmth. “You got this.”

You nodded, feeling a rush of determination. As you took your shot, the cue ball sailed smoothly into the eight ball, sending it into the pocket with a satisfying clack. Cheers erupted from your friends, and you jumped up in excitement, unable to contain your joy.

“Did I just win?” you exclaimed, wide-eyed with disbelief.

“Looks like it!” Han said, clapping you on the back. “Great job!”

Yuni, however, crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, still watching you closely. You tried not to let her expression dampen your mood. “So, who’s buying the next round?” you asked, turning your attention back to the group, hoping to shift the atmosphere.

“Loser buys,” Chan declared, pretending to pout. “But I guess that means I owe you one!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll let you treat me later,” you said with a teasing grin.

As the group moved toward the karaoke area, you felt an electric energy between you and Chan. With each passing moment, you were more grateful for the accidental encounters that had brought you to this point. Who knew a series of mishaps would lead to a night full of laughter, friendship, and possibly something more?

And even if Yuni still looked at you like a puzzle she needed to solve, you were too busy enjoying the moment to let it bother you. After all, you were finally having fun, and it felt good.

As the night deepened, the lively chatter and laughter of the group created a warm atmosphere. You found a cozy seat at the edge of the karaoke stage, sipping on your drink and watching Chan as he jokingly sang off-key. Everything felt perfect until you noticed Yuni making her way toward you, her expression a mix of confidence and something more sinister.

Her confident stride and sharp smile cutting through the laughter and music. She leaned closer, her voice low and dripping with a condescending sweetness. “Hey there, just wanted to have a little chat.”

“Sure,” you said cautiously, bracing yourself for whatever she had to say.

“Listen,” she said, crossing her arms, “Chan is mine. You need to back off. He’s not interested in you.” Her tone had that classic mean girl edge, and your heart raced as you absorbed her words.

“No,” you replied firmly, trying to match her intensity. “I like Chan, and I think he likes me too. I’m not going to just walk away because you say so.”

Her laughter was sharp, almost mocking. “Oh, really? You think he’s into you? That’s adorable.” She leaned in, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Let me show you some proof.”

Before you could respond, Yuni stood up, her heels clicking against the floor as she strode confidently towards Chan. You felt your heart drop, your gut twisting in anticipation and dread. The entire bar seemed to fade into the background as you watched her approach him.

She whispered something in his ear, and for a moment, Chan turned to look at you, confusion crossing his features. Then, without any hesitation, Yuni leaned in and kissed him. The moment felt like a punch to the gut, and time seemed to freeze as you watched Chan’s reaction.

He didn’t push her away.

That was your sign. Your breath caught in your throat, a mixture of disbelief and disappointment washing over you. You stood up abruptly, the weight of the moment crashing down on you. You couldn’t bear to watch anymore.

Ignoring the sounds of laughter and music, you turned and made your way toward the exit, the laughter of your friends fading behind you. Each step felt heavier as the reality settled in. You thought you had something special with Chan, but seeing him with Yuni shattered that illusion in an instant.

You stepped out into the cool night air, taking a deep breath to calm the storm brewing inside you. You needed to collect your thoughts. This wasn’t the end, you reminded yourself. It was a moment, not a conclusion. You wouldn’t let Yuni or this situation define how you felt about Chan or yourself.

As you walked away from the bar, your resolve strengthened. You would figure this out—whatever it took.

You stumbled out of the bar, the cool night air hitting your flushed cheeks like a splash of reality. Once outside, you leaned against the cool brick wall, the laughter and music fading into the background as the tears you’d been holding back spilled over.

You cried silently, each sob echoing the turmoil inside you. You knew it; deep down, you had always known. All those moments—each little accident that had brought you to Chan—had turned out to be just that: accidents. The awkward encounters, the clumsy run-ins, the way you had been drawn together—it was all a series of mishaps that had somehow made you believe there was something more.

Meeting Chan had felt like fate at first, like a spark that ignited something inside you. But now, standing alone in the dark, you couldn’t shake the feeling that it had all been a fluke, a twist of the universe that had no real purpose.

“An accident is an accident,” you murmured through your tears, repeating the words like a mantra. Every encounter had been a result of your own clumsiness, your carelessness leading you into a whirlwind of emotions you weren’t prepared to handle.

You thought about how carefree you had felt with him, the way he made you laugh and the comfort of his presence. But now, that joy felt tainted, overshadowed by the image of him kissing Yuni, the girl who had made it clear she wanted him. It felt like a cruel joke, and you were the punchline.

As the tears flowed, you took deep breaths, trying to calm the storm inside. It was time to let go of the fantasy you had built around Chan, to accept that maybe what you felt wasn’t meant to be.

Wiping your eyes, you stood up straighter, determined not to let this moment define you. It hurt, but you wouldn’t let it break you. “You deserve better,” you whispered to yourself.

With one last deep breath, you turned away from the bar and started to walk. It was time to reclaim your night, even if it meant facing the reality of the situation head-on. No more accidents; you needed to be more careful, not just with your surroundings but with your heart.

As you walked home, you made a promise to yourself. You would move on, even if it took time. You would find a way to let go of the ‘what-ifs’ and embrace whatever came next, accidents or not.

Days turned into a blur, and despite Chan's constant messages lighting up your phone, you chose to ignore them. Why would he contact you after what happened? You found yourself lost in thought as you folded clothes, the fabric slipping through your fingers. A sudden craving for coffee hit you, breaking through your distracted haze.

With a determined sigh, you made your way to the coffee shop. As you approached, doubt crept in. What if you ran into Chan? You paused, took a deep breath, and reassured yourself, If it’s meant to happen, then let it be.

Stepping inside, you felt a wave of relief wash over you when you didn’t see him. You took your sweet time, savoring the aroma of freshly brewed coffee as you glanced at the menu, letting the moment distract you.

Just as you were about to leave, you caught sight of him standing at the entrance. He looked surprised to see you, his eyes widening slightly.

“Can we talk?” he asked, stepping closer.

You hesitated for a moment before nodding, your curiosity outweighing your apprehension. You found a small table in the corner, and he sat down across from you, his demeanor shifting to one of earnestness.

He glanced down, his brow furrowed in thought. “What do you want to drink? I can get you something.”

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I’m okay; I already have some.”

His gaze softened as he leaned in slightly, studying your face. “Why have you been ignoring my messages?”

You let out a soft sigh, your heart racing at the vulnerability in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I was busy.”

He nodded, his expression filled with understanding. “But why did you leave the party without saying goodbye? I was looking for you.”

“I’m sorry,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just had to go home. That’s all.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Yuni… she tells me everything.”

You fell silent, unsure of how to respond.

“The truth is, after that party, I’m ignoring Yuni. I’m never talking to her again.”

“Why would you do that?” you asked, concern creeping into your tone. The thought of him standing up to her made your heart flutter.

“Because she hurt you,” he said, his voice steady yet filled with emotion.

You felt a pang in your chest. I’m not hurt because of her… I’m hurt because I was careless, you thought to yourself, grappling with your conflicting emotions.

“Look, I was drunk,” he continued, his eyes filled with regret. “I only realized she kissed me after I pushed her away... and then I saw you running.”

You could see the weight of his words pressing down on him. “You don’t need to explain,” you murmured, trying to keep your composure.

“I need to explain,” he insisted, leaning forward, his intensity palpable. “I don’t want you away from me.”

“Chan…” you called softly, feeling your heart race.

“You know,” he began, his voice dropping to a whisper, “after that accident of meeting you… my life changed.”

His confession hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. You felt your breath hitch, caught off guard by the raw honesty in his words. Your heart pounded in your chest as you processed what he was saying. Could it be true?

Chan’s words lingered in the air, his eyes searching yours for a reaction. You could feel the weight of the moment, the vulnerability in his voice pulling at your heart.

"Meeting you..." he hesitated, his gaze falling to the table for a second before lifting back to you. "It felt like one of those accidents that just... changed everything. And at first, I thought it was just that—a coincidence, a bump in the hallway. But then... it wasn’t."

You stayed silent, your pulse quickening as he continued.

"I wasn’t expecting it. To feel this way. But… I think I’ve been falling for you. Accidentally in love, if you want to call it that."

His confession took your breath away, the rawness of it catching you off guard. You tried to respond, but the words got stuck in your throat. He smiled softly at your reaction, the kind of smile that carried relief but also nervousness, as if he wasn’t sure what you’d say next.

"I know everything between us started with these random moments," Chan continued, his voice low and sincere. "But those ‘accidents’ became the best part of my day. Seeing you in the hallway, at the coffee shop… it’s like you became my favorite surprise."

You swallowed hard, the emotions swirling in your chest almost too much to bear. "Chan... I..." you started, unsure of how to put your feelings into words. The truth was, you’d felt it too—that strange sense of anticipation every time you thought you might see him, the way your heart raced whenever your paths crossed.

His hand gently reached across the table, brushing against yours, and you felt warmth spread through you. "I don’t want to lose you," he said softly. "I don’t care about the circumstances. I just want to be with you, whether it's an accident or fate."

Your heart ached at the sincerity in his voice. It wasn’t just an accident anymore. Maybe it never was. The two of you were brought together by chance, but now, it felt like something deeper.

You took a deep breath and met his gaze. "Maybe accidents aren’t so bad after all," you said with a shy smile.

His eyes lit up at your words, and a smile slowly formed on his face. "Yeah?" he asked, his tone hopeful.

"Yeah," you nodded, feeling a sense of peace settle over you. "I think I’ve been falling for you too, Chan."

He let out a soft laugh, a sound filled with both relief and joy. "I’m so glad you said that," he murmured, his hand closing around yours. "Because I really don’t want to go through another day pretending I don’t feel this way."

You squeezed his hand, a smile tugging at your lips. Maybe the best things really do happen by accident.

Chan’s hand, warm and steady, held yours like an anchor, and for the first time in days, the weight on your chest seemed to lift. What started as random, fleeting moments had turned into something real, something neither of you could deny any longer.

"Maybe," you said softly, meeting his eyes, "we were supposed to find each other like this—through all these accidents."

He smiled at that, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles. "Then I guess I'm grateful for every one of them," he said, his voice tender. "Because they brought me to you."

The tension that had been hanging over you for so long melted away, replaced with a quiet sense of happiness. What you thought were accidents, moments of carelessness, were really the universe pushing you toward each other, piece by piece.

You realized that sometimes, the best things in life don’t come with planning or expectations. Sometimes, they come when you're not looking—an accidental meeting that turns into something much more. And now, sitting across from Chan, his hand in yours, you knew that this wasn’t just an accident anymore. It was the start of something real.

And just like that, the uncertainty faded away. You had no idea what the future held, but you didn’t need to know. Right here, right now, was enough.

Because in the end, maybe the best kind of love really is the one you stumble into, accidentally.

--

an: a heart, reblog, and comment is very much appreciated. thankyou

[mymindpov]

Pedro pascal x singer reader

Summary: y/n meet someone without know he gonna change her live forever

A/N : hi lovely people i decided share my short story of Pedro pascal and singer reader tell me what you think about this story in comments :)

English is not my first language!!

🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 🎸

CHAPTER ONE: THE FIRST NOTE

The lights backstage were dimmer than Y/N expected. Not in a moody, glamorous way—more like someone forgot to change the bulbs. Her palms were sweating despite the chill in the air, and her manager’s voice buzzed in her ear like static.

“You’re on in ten. Remember what we talked about—breathe, smile, hit the notes. You’ve got this.”

She nodded, lips tight. She didn’t need reminders; she needed air. Maybe less eyeliner. Maybe less everything. It was her first live performance, and the crowd out there wasn’t some open mic audience at a café. This was a real industry crowd. Executives. Agents. Names she’d only seen in Variety headlines.

And then there was him.

Pedro Pascal.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. At least, not according to the last briefing she got. He was on the guest list but people like that never actually show up. But someone said they saw him arrive. Front row. Alone.

Y/N wiped her hands on her skirt and tried not to throw up.

Pedro Pascal was fifty. A movie star. A real one—not an influencer turned actor or a flavor-of-the-month heartthrob. He had presence. He walked into a room and oxygen got self-conscious.

And Y/N? She was just a girl with a song and a maybe-decent voice.

When her name was called, the world tilted.

The curtain parted and the spotlight locked onto her like a sniper. She stepped out, heart racing, lips parted slightly as if to catch her breath. Her heels clicked like gunshots. The piano intro began. Soft. Barely there.

Y/N lifted the mic. Her voice didn’t shake. It should’ve, but it didn’t.

She sang.

For three minutes, the room disappeared. She forgot about the crowd, the cameras, the way her manager had begged her not to wear the combat boots with the silk dress. Her voice carried—clear, unguarded, raw. Not perfect. But real.

When it ended, silence hit harder than applause.

Then came the sound. Loud. Surprising. Real applause. A few standing. A few stunned. And yes—him.

Pedro Pascal stood slowly, like he wasn’t sure he was supposed to. Then he clapped—three solid beats. That was all. Then he sat again.

Y/N walked off stage like her shoes were filled with helium.

⸻

Backstage was chaos. Her manager was vibrating. A publicist tried to hand her a sparkling water and missed. Everyone was talking.

“—she killed it—”

“—did you see Pedro—”

“—she’s nineteen?!”

And then—

“Y/N.”

It wasn’t a shout. It cut through the noise anyway.

She turned. Pedro Pascal stood just a few feet away, hands in his pockets, casual like this wasn’t her existential nightmare of a night.

Up close, he looked exactly like himself and nothing like she imagined. Lines around his eyes, tired but kind. A mouth that looked like it knew how to keep secrets. And something else—something she couldn’t name.

He smiled. “That was incredible.”

Y/N blinked. “Thank you.”

“You write that?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

He paused. “You’ve got guts.”

“I don’t know about that,” she said, looking down.

“No, really,” he said. “I’ve seen people twice your age with half your nerve.”

She laughed, unsure what to do with that kind of compliment. “Well… I’m either brave or stupid.”

“Sometimes it’s the same thing.”

That made her smile. For the first time all night, she relaxed.

He glanced down at her boots. “Combat boots and a silk dress. Interesting choice.”

“They told me not to.”

He nodded, amused. “Then definitely the right choice.”

Silence stretched for a beat—comfortable. Not the awkward kind. The kind that made the skin behind her ears prickle, like something unspoken had been exchanged.

Pedro cleared his throat. “Anyway. I just wanted to say that. You’ve got something. Don’t let them polish it out of you.”

Y/N felt something shift. Like the floor had changed shape.

“Thanks,” she said. “That… means a lot.”

He gave her one last look—a look with a weight she couldn’t quite unpack. Respect. Curiosity. Maybe even a little wonder.

Then he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Y/N stood still, heart rattling in her chest.

Somewhere, someone shouted her name.

But all she could think about was the way he looked at her like she was already someone.

[pensthoughts]

sunday brunch | v.p

part 2 of bleachers a/n: finally posting this after it's been collecting dust in my drafts unfinished for like 10 years pairing: van palmer x pastorsdaughter!reader summary: van shows up to your church in slacks and a borrowed button-down, eyes like she’s walking into fire. she tries to play it cool, but your leg brushes hers under the table, and suddenly brunch feels like a battlefield. word count: 2.5k

the first sunday van goes to church, she shows up five minutes early and fifteen percent less gay.

no flannel, no soccer hoodie with chewed up strings. she's wearing slacks—actual slacks—and a button-down that she found in her house. it's tucked in weird. her hair's still wet. she looks like the tried so hard not to look like herself that she looped back around and became someone else entirely.

you're sitting near the front, scanning the hymnals when you notice her slip in the back door, eyes scanning the room like she's walking into a war zone.

your heart stutters.

van. here. in your church.

you blink, then glance at the clock on the wall, then back at her.

she's not supposed to be here.

your dad is quietly setting up the pulpit, unaware of the silent storm in your pew.

van makes her way toward the back pew, awkward and out of place.

you catch her eye just as she ducks her head.

shock ripples through you—because after everything—here she is.

you hadn't expected for this to become so real, so fast.

she doesn't look at you again, not even when your mom walks past and gives her a polite, puzzled smile.

not even when the organist starts warming up, soft notes blooming like dust motes in the high-ceilinged quiet.

you're still staring, hymnal open in your lap, eyes fixed on the girl in the back who somehow looks both completely out of place and like she's trying so hard to belong it hurts.

you keep thinking about the other night. her hand on yours from across the booth.

but that was in the diner. that was soft lighting and a hidden booth.

this is something else entirely.

your dad steps up to the pulpit. the congregation shifts, quieting. you turn just in time to see van straighten her spine and clasp her hands like she's bracing for impact.

halfway through the second hymn, you feel her eyes on you.

when you glance back, she's looking right at you—open, a little lost, and so clearly trying.

you mouth, what are you doing in here?

she shrugs.

a beat.

you didn't have to.

her mouth quirks. i wanted to.

you snap your eyes forward before your mother sees. your face is burning. the room suddenly feels smaller.

your dad's voice floats over the pews. "today, we're going to talk about grace."

you feel van shift behind you, and when you peek back again, she's flipping through the hymnal like she's trying to decode it.

your mom leans over to you during the prayer. "who is that girl? do you know her?

you nod, swallowing. "a friend from school."

it doesn't feel like a lie. not really.

not anymore.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

outside, the sun's too bright and van's still blinking like the stained glass gave her a headache. she's standing near the edge of the steps, picking at the button on her sleeve like it personally betrayed her.

you wait until the crowd thins out before you cross over.

"well, you made it," you say quietly.

van shrugs, but there's something proud in the tilt of her head. "guess i survived."

"barely."

"hey, your dad only said hell once."

you grin, but it drops fast when the door opens behind you.

your parents step out together. your mom clocks van immediatley. your dad's still flipping through his notes like he's rehashing the sermon in his head.

"hi," your mom says, gentle but curious. "we saw you inside earlier—what was your name again?"

"van," she says quickly. "i mean—vanessa. i go by van."

"friend from school," you add, voice a little too high. "we're in history together."

your dad finally looks up, blinking at her like he's trying to place the face. "you play soccer?"

van straightens. "yes, sir."

"thought so. laura lee's on the team too, right? her family's in our congregation."

"yeah," van says, "she's one of our forwards."

"you any good?"

"she's varsity goalie," you say before you can stop yourself.

van glances at you, lips twitching.

your dad nods, clearly impressed. "i played a little back in college. not at your level, i'm sure."

"you should talk more about it over lunch," your mom says lightly. "nancy and laura might be coming. i'm sure she's like to see a teammate outside of practice."

van opens her mouth. closes it. then glances at you.

"okay," she says. "if that's alright."

"of course it is," your dad says, putting his arm around your shoulders. "always nice meeting friends of hers."

he turns to walk toward the car. your mom follows a beat later.

van exhales. "so...that was your dad."

you nod, dazed. "yeah. and now you're coming to lunch with him."

van groans. "jesus christ."

"van!"

"—said it respectfully."

you bump shoulders. she bumps back. and you both follow them to the parking lot, trying not to look like you're holding your breath.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

van's car smells like cherry gun, wet grass, and whatever drugstore perfume she spritzed in the parking lot. the passenger door sticks when you pull it shut, and your dress snags on the seatbelt as you buckle in. you don't say anything about it.

you're still trying to believe this is happening. that she came. that she sat through the whole service. that she talked to your mom without making a single inappropriate joke.

now she's driving you to lunch like this is normal. like your dad didn't just invite her out like she was some kind of youth group buddy.

the car jerks a little as she reverses. "so," she says, tapping on the wheel, "how weird is this place? like, linen napkins weird or just no ketchup on the table weird?"

you glance at her, then look back out the window. "we're not going to a chain restaurant."

van groans softly. "yeah, i figured. your dad has that...i-own-a-pair-of-golf-shoes energy."

"he does own golf shoes."

"exactly."

you smile despite yourself.

"it's called millie's. they do brunch on sundays. lots of old wood and soft jazz and waiters in white shirts."

van exhales slowly, like she's bracing herself. "god, i'm gonna spill water all over the table or say 'hell' too loud or something."

"you're doing fine," you say, and mean it.

she shoots you a sideways glance. "yeah?"

you nod.

van smiles—just a little—and taps the wheel again, more relaxed now. "still feels like i'm being marched to the guillotine. just, like. in slacks."

she's quiet for the rest of the ride, knuckles white on the steering wheel, jaw working like she's chewing on a hundred possible versions of the same interaction. you don't press her. it means something that she came.

when you pull up, her car looks even more out of place than usual. there's a row of polished volvos and lexuses ourside millie's, all gleaming in the early-summer sunlight. van's car coughs dramatically as she shuts it off.

you unbuckle. she doesn't move.

"you okay?" you ask.

"yup. totally. just—figuring out how to act like i wasn't raised on dry cereal and after-school tv."

you tilt your head. "you don't have to act like anything."

"i'm literally in slacks. i've crossed a line."

you bite back a grin. "you're fine."

van takes a breath, then opens her door.

your parents are already inside. your dad's probably talking to the hostess, gesturing toward the spot where you always sit. you follow van across the lot, her shoulders tight, her stride just a little too fast. she holds the door open for you and mutters, "after you, milady," under her breath. you roll your eyes and step inside.

the place is soft and bright, all clean white walls and brass light fixtures. the air smells like citrus and fresh-baked bread. a pianist in the corner plays something slow and pretty, and van's eyes dart around like she's looking for the exit.

your mom waves from your usual table. you sit down beside her. van hesitates a beat too long before taking the seat across from you.

your dad smiles. "glad you found it okay."

"yeah," van says, folding her hands in her lap. "i, uh, live pretty close."

your mom switches the subject quickly. "so, about laura lee. do you know eachother well?"

"sort of," van says. "i mean, she's sweet. she always says hi. she, uh...loaned me a devotional book once."

your dad laughs. "sounds like her."

"she's always been that way," your mom adds fondly. "even when she was little. very thoughtful. always inviting people to church camp."

"she invited me," van says, then instantly regrets it. "i didn't go. but it was...nice."

there's a pause. you sip your water to hide your smile.

van clears her throat. "she's a good player. real solid with posession. not flashy or anything, but—reliable."

"reliable is the best kind of player," your dad says, leaning back in his seat. "you play goalie, right? you need a good head on your shoulders for that position."

van shrugs, a little awkward. "i try."

your mom glances toward the door. "laura lee and her mom should be here soon. i told them to meet us here after choir."

van's eyes widen slightly. you bump her knee under the table. her shoulders relax.

"i'll have to get the two of you talking more," your dad says. "maybe you could even join her in helping me coach the youth team this summer if you're around."

van opens her mouth, then closes it again.

you rescue her. "she's not sure what she's doing this summer yet."

"fair enough," your mom says. "we won't make you sign anything today."

the waiter comes with menus. van stares at hers like it's in another language.

you lean in just enough to whisper, "get the lemon pancakes. trust me."

she nods slowly. "got it. house special. church-approved."

your smile lingers.

across the table, van looks like she still can't quite believe she's here.

but she is.

laura lee and her mom arrive about fifteen minutes in, all sunshine and polite apologies for being late. her mom has the exact kind of church-lady poise you expected—pearls, pale lipstick, the kind of cardigan that has matching earrings somewhere at home—but laura lee’s in a soccer windbreaker over a midi skirt, already mid-sentence as they approach the table.

laura lee was being laura lee—smiling too big, asking van how she’s really doing, quoting her morning devotional while buttering a roll. she complimented your mom’s blouse and your dad’s sermon and then launched into a story about helping a stray cat out of a drainpipe behind the church (“god put him there to test me—i know it”) before anyone even opened their menus.

van, to her credit, handled it pretty well. she nodded along, offered a few one-word answers, and even managed to say “amen” once without sounding sarcastic. you could tell she was trying. and you could tell she was overwhelmed—her posture tense, her voice quieter than usual, her hand brushing yours under the table like she needed to remind herself you were still there.

the adults mostly talked among themselves—your dad asking about laura lee’s stats, her mom and yours swapping bible study news. it was easy enough for you and van to fade into the background, your knees touching under the table, her shoe tapping yours lightly now and then.

at one point, laura lee leaned in and whispered something about summer mission trips, and van nodded like she’d consider it, even though you knew she absolutely wouldn’t. still, she smiled. she said thank you. she made it through.

by the time the check came, your mom was already talking about inviting van over again sometime soon, and your dad mentioned the youth soccer league at least twice. laura lee offered van a ride to practice next week if she ever needed one. her mom agreed that it was always good to keep “godly friendships” close during high school.

van smiled. tight-lipped. eyes on her water glass. but when your dad stood to stretch and the moms started gathering their purses, she leaned just slightly closer to you and whispered, “i survived brunch. that counts as a miracle, right?”

you didn’t answer. just let your hand brush hers again as you both stood up, full of lemon pancakes and tension and whatever strange, steady thing was blooming between you now.

before you knew it, van was parked outside your house.

the sun was still out, but it was slowly dipping into a lazy gold, catching the curve of her jaw. she hadn’t turned the engine off yet. just sat there, fingers tapping the steering wheel, mouth tugging to one side like she was chewing on something she didn’t know how to swallow.

you glanced toward the front door. lights off. no one waiting in the window. probably went to chat with laura lee’s mom about hymnal schedules and summer devotionals.

still, you didn’t move to get out.

van cleared her throat softly. “so. that was… something.”

you smiled, turned to her fully. “you mean surviving both my parents and laura lee in one sitting?”

“that was a spiritual workout,” she said, mock serious. “like, i’m gonna need gatorade and a nap.”

you laughed. it was quiet. easy. and then neither of you said anything for a second.

her eyes found yours.

it wasn’t like before—when she’d show up at your window all bravado and jokes and the rush of being wanted in the dark. this was different. slower. she looked nervous, like the weight of what today was had finally settled in.

“you okay?” you asked.

she nodded. “yeah. just…” her hand lifted, hovered for a second, then rested gently against your cheek. “you look really pretty when you’re trying not to laugh in church, by the way.”

your face went warm, and you leaned into her hand without meaning to.

“van—”

“i know,” she said quickly. “this is all kind of… fast. and weird. and a little terrifying.”

you didn’t argue. because it was.

but then she leaned across the console, and you met her halfway.

the kiss was slow. careful at first, like she didn’t want to push too far, but you curled your fingers into the fabric of her weird too-big button-down and pulled her closer.

it wasn’t rushed. wasn’t messy or frantic. it felt like something you’d both been trying to say for a long time.

her lips were warm. a little chapped. she kissed you like you mattered. like she had all the time in the world now. like this wasn’t just sneaking around and holding your breath and waiting for something to crack.

it was quiet in the car. just the faint hum of the engine and your breaths syncing slowly.

when you finally pulled back, her eyes were still closed for a second, like she was trying to keep the moment right there, safe.

you whispered, “you didn’t have to come today.”

“i know,” she said, opening her eyes. “but i wanted to.”

and then softer, like she was still figuring it out: “you’re worth showing up for.”

your chest hurt in that soft, aching way it sometimes did around her—when she said things like that, when she looked at you like that.

you reached for the door handle.

“same time next sunday?” she asked, half-joking.

you smirked. “don’t push it.”

but you leaned over and kissed her one more time, quick and certain, before you slipped out of the car and headed for the porch—heart full, head spinning, already thinking about next time.

💌 taglist: @callsignwidow, @freakyjorker, @imlike-so-gaydude, @yellowjacketsslvt69, @moonwateraura, @gracynparsons, @casualclamturkey, @crainalley0227, @auroraseddie, @brielease

[pricesgirl]

Mary Janes

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

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14

Jinx

The whole damn week feels like I'm walking through some dreamscape, like I’m caught between the fragments of a memory I can’t quite reach, but it’s all so damn sweet. Y/N’s hand, her fingers threading through mine, is the only thing grounding me.

It’s like we’re both floating, but somehow still tethered to each other by something—something warm, something soft, something real.

Everyone knows.

Everyone fucking knows.

And it’s... It’s different now.

It’s freeing. Like there’s no more hiding, no more second-guessing every glance or touch. Like I can breathe, really breathe, without the weight of secrets pressing down on me.

I think it’s her laugh that gets to me the most. It's like everything good in the world wrapped up in the sound of it.

It’s a little quiet, like she’s still figuring out how to let herself be loud, but it’s still hers, and I can’t get enough of it.

And I—shit, I think I'm getting soft.

But when her eyes meet mine, I forget how to speak. There’s this look—this look she gives me, like she’s seeing me, all the way down to the fucked-up parts I keep buried. And she’s still here. She’s still mine.

My girl.

We’re in the library, of course, where it’s too quiet and too crowded all at once, but it doesn’t matter.

I’m leaning against a table, watching her as she flips through some bullshit textbook, and all I can think about is the way her lips curve when she reads, the way she chews on her pen like she’s too caught up in her thoughts to notice.

I lean in, my voice barely a whisper, but she hears it, always. “You look fucking cute when you concentrate,” I murmur, my fingers grazing her wrist. She jumps, startled, but then she smiles.

That smile. God, it lights me up from the inside out, and I can’t help but lean in to kiss her, right there in the middle of this boring-ass library.

When we break apart, she’s blushing, and I can’t help but chuckle at how easy it is to fluster her.

"Shut up," she mumbles, but her voice is all soft and sweet, and she’s looking down at her hands, still holding her damn textbook like it’s the most important thing in the room.

“No, really,” I press, “You’re all fucking cute and smart and perfect, and I can’t get enough of you.”

She ducks her head, but I can see her trying to fight the smile. And that—that—is all I need.

She’s here. We’re here. And it’s all soft kisses and stolen glances in between the chaos of school, like we’re living in a world where nothing else matters but the way our fingers fit together.

Y/N’s laughter bubbles up again, and I feel it in my chest, spreading like a fire I never want to put out. “I love you,” she says, like she’s telling me the weather, like it’s the simplest truth in the world.

And I—fuck, I think I’m a goner.

I’m grinning like an idiot, my heart still thudding in my chest from that last kiss, when a voice breaks through the bubble of my little world.

"Ugh. Are you two gonna be like this the whole fucking semester?"

I pull away from Y/N reluctantly, groaning as I look over to see Ekko standing there, arms crossed, smirking like he’s just caught us doing something criminal.

He leans against the bookshelf, raising an eyebrow at us both, clearly unimpressed.

“Oh, come on, Ekko,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re still on that bitter, lonely shit.”

He gives me that look, the one that says he’s definitely judging us. "What? I'm just saying," he smirks, "You two are all over each other like some cheesy romance novel. Kinda hard to focus on my own shit with all the heart-eye emojis floating around."

Y/N, still blushing and a little awkward, shoots him a playful glare. "We’re allowed to be happy, Ekko," she says, her voice still carrying that soft, sweet undertone that somehow makes me want to protect her from everything, even Ekko’s mockery.

Ekko raises both hands in mock surrender. "I didn’t say you couldn’t be happy. I’m just saying, some of us enjoy a little less PDA and a little more actual work. You know, the kind of work that doesn’t involve adoring gazes."

“Bite me,” I say with a snort, crossing my arms and leaning back in my seat. "You wish you had someone to adore you like that, huh?"

Ekko chuckles, the sound low and easy, but it’s clear he’s not backing down. “Nah. I’m good. Can’t imagine the level of distraction that’d come with having someone cling to you like that. You two are practically glued at the fucking hip.”

Y/N shoots him a smile, her eyes dancing with that mischievous sparkle that makes me weak in the knees. "Jealous much?"

"Hardly." Ekko shrugs, but there's something almost soft about the way he looks at us, like he’s kinda... warming up to the idea that maybe, just maybe, we’re not total idiots for being like this.

"You two are disgustingly cute," he mutters with a half-grin before shaking his head. "Alright, alright, enjoy your little bubble. Just remember, not everyone’s here for your lovey-dovey bullshit."

Y/N and I share a glance, and I can see her trying not to laugh. I can feel her hand brush mine under the table, and I swear my heart skips a beat.

“I’ll make sure we keep it to a minimum for you,” I tease, winking at her.

“Yeah, sure,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Next time, we’ll tone down the heart-eye looks just for you, Ekko."

Ekko just rolls his eyes dramatically, but I can see the small, approving smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Whatever. You two keep me entertained. Now, back to pretending to do actual schoolwork."

With a final flick of his fingers, he turns and heads off down the aisle, leaving Y/N and me alone again, the tension between us still sweet and electric, like a live wire.

“I can’t believe he’s so rude,” she mutters, but there’s laughter in her voice.

I grin at her, watching her blush under my gaze again. "Don’t worry. He secretly loves it. And you know what? So do I."

She rolls her eyes, but I can see the little smile creeping back up. We’re back in our bubble again, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

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Y/N

The changing room hums with a familiar rhythm, the sound of shoes tapping on the floor, the rustle of fabric, and the soft murmur of voices. It smells faintly of hairspray and sweat, a blend that’s almost comforting in its predictability. Yet, beneath the surface of my routine, I feel something stirring—something that isn’t quite as settled as I’d like it to be.

Cait’s voice slices through the air, a little sharper than usual, carrying a weight I hadn’t anticipated. “So, uh, you and... Jinx. You two really are serious, huh?”

I pause, fingers lingering on the edge of my cheer uniform as I look up. The room seems to still, just for a breath, as if waiting for me to answer. Her words are heavy, but there’s something underneath them—a hesitance, a hesitation I can’t quite place.

And in that moment, I feel the tug of something—protectiveness, maybe? Or worry?

I nod slowly, my gaze dropping to the hem of my skirt, where the fabric feels too tight for comfort. “Yeah. We’re... figuring things out,” I say, my voice steady despite the uncertainty swirling inside me.

Mel, as always, is the voice of calm, her presence a quiet anchor in the storm. “Love is... unpredictable, isn’t it? It’s never quite what we expect, but maybe that’s the beauty of it,” she muses, her words flowing like a soft melody.

But Cait doesn’t seem convinced.

She shifts, a flicker of discomfort passing across her face. “I get it,” she says, but the weight of her voice makes it sound more like a question than a statement. “It’s just... Jinx? She’s... well, she’s different. I don’t know, Y/N. You’ve never really been the type to—”

I know where she’s going with this, and I brace myself. Cait’s protective, and I understand that. But sometimes it feels like she doesn’t see Jinx for who she really is. She sees the chaos, the unpredictability, but not the girl beneath it all—the girl I love.

“I can handle it,” I say, quieter this time, but firm. “I’m not... fragile, Cait.”

Mel’s soft laugh breaks the tension, like a delicate ripple across still water. “Perhaps we all have more strength than we give ourselves credit for.”

Cait sighs, her gaze drifting away as if weighing her thoughts. The moment lingers between us, heavy with unspoken words, until Cait speaks again, her voice softer now, almost tentative. “Okay, okay, I’m not trying to be a buzzkill... but, um, if you really want to show me that you’re serious about this... maybe we could go on a double date? With Vi.” Her eyes flick to mine, guarded but sincere. “If you’d like. No pressure.”

The offer hangs in the air, delicate and uncertain, like a fragile thread between us. I blink, caught off guard by the invitation. Cait... Cait wants to meet me halfway? Wants to understand, maybe? It feels strange, but in the best way possible.

I chew on my lip, my thoughts swirling like the shifting colors of the sky at dusk. “A double date?” I repeat, the words tasting strange on my tongue, as if I’m not quite sure what to make of them.

She shrugs, trying to mask her uncertainty with a nonchalant expression, but I see the way her fingers tug at her hair—a subtle sign of the nerves she’s trying to hide. “Yeah, well, if you want. It’s no big deal.”

Mel smiles softly, a gentle curve of her lips that speaks more than words ever could. “I think it’s a lovely idea, Y/N. A bit of time away from school, a chance to enjoy the simple things.”

“I’ll think about it,” I say, my voice softer than I intend, the words coming out with a careful hesitation. “Thanks, Cait. I’ll let you know.”

Cait doesn’t say anything, but I catch the flicker of something in her eyes—a softening, like she’s been waiting for me to say just that. She nods, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips, before turning back to adjust her uniform in front of the mirror.

Mel, always the voice of grace, adds in a tone that makes everything seem just a little bit brighter, “I think it’ll be lovely, Y/N. A new beginning, perhaps.”

And for a moment, just a fleeting moment, I believe her. I believe that maybe this is a step toward something more—something better. Something simple, something good.

As I take a quiet breath, the room falls into a comfortable rhythm again, the conversation flowing like a gentle stream. But something feels different now, lighter, as though the world is just a little bit easier to navigate.

Maybe it’s because for the first time in a while, I feel like everything might just be okay.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿

Jinx

This place is way too fucking fancy.

Like, what the hell are we doing here? Some overpriced, candle-lit, soft jazz-playing, rich-people bullshit kinda place.

Everything smells like truffle oil and pretentiousness.

The waiter keeps calling me ma’am, and I want to sock him in the jaw just for that. But whatever. This is what we’re doing, apparently.

I tap my fingers on the edge of the table, pretending to study the fancy menu like I’m some sophisticated, high-society queen—except I’m not.

I’m just here because Y/N insisted, and Vi dragged me along. I was honestly just hoping for a cheeseburger, but no, I get this mess.

Truffle oil? What even is that? Sounds like something that should be illegal.

I glance over at Y/N, her face scrunched up like she’s pondering the meaning of life as she stares at the drink menu. Cute. I could literally eat her up right now—metaphorically, of course.

“Y/N,” I tease, voice low enough so only she hears, “If you order some fancy-ass drink with the word infusion in it, I’m gonna lose it. Just get a damn soda, toots”

She glances at me, her lips twitching into a smile like she can’t decide whether to roll her eyes or giggle.

God, I love that. It’s like she’s trying to be all refined, but she’s secretly a little freak with me.

Caitlyn’s over there with Vi, already in some boring conversation about the exquisite bouquet of whatever wine she’s pretending to care about.

Ugh.

Still can't stand Cait. I mean, yeah she is like one of my girls best friends so I do have to act civil, but god is it fucking painful.

Y/N lets out this little laugh when I fake-gag at Caitlyn and Vi’s conversation. I shoot her a wink, like yeah, you get it.

“Just promise me you won’t drink anything that tastes like nail polish remover,” I say, leaning over to whisper in her ear. “The waiter looks like he knows how to make that happen.”

She rolls her eyes at me, but I can see the slight amusement behind it. She knows what I’m about, even when I’m being all extra.

“Promise,” she says, her voice soft, and I’m pretty sure I could live in that sound forever.

Vi raises a brow, cutting into our bubble. “I think we’re all set,” she says, her tone a little more serious than usual. "Caitlyn, are we doing dessert?"

"Of course," Caitlyn responds, as if dessert is some fancy word for noble pursuit. "The tasting menu has a truffle mousse that pairs wonderfully with a Chardonnay."

I can't stop myself from snorting. "A mousse? What, they’re putting truffle oil in everything now? We can’t escape it." I glance at Caitlyn, giving her a playful side-eye. "Not even dessert’s safe, huh?"

She shoots me a look that would kill a lesser person, but I’m too quick for her. She doesn’t know how to handle me. Nobody does.

Vi chuckles, probably just to keep the peace. “I think it’s a good idea,” she says, nudging Caitlyn’s foot under the table. “We’ll be fine.”

Whatever.

Fine. If that’s how they wanna play it, I’ll just make sure Y/N’s enjoying herself. We don’t need fancy food or fake wine to have fun.

Cause as sappy as it sounds, we have eachother and that's all I need.

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

authors note: this isn't the last chapter yet ;)

please like and reblog!

[a-haunting-memory]

Hii! Idk if ur reqs r opened rn but if it isn’t u can do this l8r 🫶 May i req a rocky rickaby x rich gn (or fem) reader romantic hcs? I need to spoil this sopping drenched cat… also, please take ur time, do whatever u need to do- take breaks if u need em! 💗

Aww, you're so nice, thanks🫶

finally I found some motivation to write so here we go! I wasn't exactly sure how to write it, but I tried.

In case you wanted me to write it differently or if you want me to include some other stuff I didn't think of, let me know and I'll see what I can do.

The reader is gn.

Romantic headcannons, but no mention of established relationship.

At first he didn't think much of the gifts that you gave him. He saw them as rewards for his succeeded runs.

However when you didn't stop gifting him, he started feeling a little confused and awkward about it. He wasn't complaining tho, hah.

He started showing you more and more gratitude.

Subconsciously he was looking forward to seeing you, but it wasn't really because he wanted to get something from you. He was just yearning for this nice sensation of feelings he used to get around you.

One evening when he came back from one of his adventures, you heard him complaining about him damaging his violin. - That was the moment you knew what your next move was.

He was really skeptical about borrowing you his beloved violin but he decided to trust you since so far you've never let him down.

When you gave him back his violin, he was in tears (of joy ofc). He couldn't thank you enough. It was his old violin but it was repaired now and it looked almost brand-new.

He offered to play you something on it as a token of appreciation ;3

You were already used to Rocky reciting some random poets he came up with in the span of the moment, but now it got more frequent and more personalized.

He's very grateful for everything you do for him. He might not always be the best at words but his actions speak volumes you wish those 'actions' were less disastrous tho...

You need to tone down spoiling him or else he might feel like he's using you which is not good cuz your poor boy feels awful with that😔

There is a possibility that once Mitzi catches on how rich you are and that you're close to Rocky, she might try persuading him into asking you to help the speakeasy or she might ask you herself.

If you ever deny helping Mitzi's drowning ship and give them a good reason why, Rocky won't ask you for it again. What you do is enough for him and he doesn't wanna make you feel used.

A/n: might update this later. I was in a crowded area and blasting music on my headphones while writing this. It was hard to focus. I'm tired ( ༎ຶ0༎ຶ)

ALSO! GIVE ME ZIB REQUESTS👹👹👹

[blairsworld22]

we were here.

warnings: mentions of a parent being ill, I know that can be heavy for some < 3

note: this is my first fic! I am nervous, but please be nice :) minors! do not interact :) I can say there's no nsfw content in this fic, but that doesn't mean there won't be in the future.

I am not responsible for your consumption.

part 1!

word count: 6,132.

Adaline couldn’t help but smile as she thought back to that late Louisiana Saturday afternoon, the memory still fresh in her mind. She had been caught up in the chaos of helping during the team event when she’d locked eyes with Joe, effortlessly calm as he held a bunny. At that moment, she hadn’t realized how his quiet presence had made her heart race—how much she had wanted to be closer to him, even though she barely knew him. She could still feel the warmth flooding her cheeks when she’d gotten caught staring. Somehow, though, it hadn’t been awkward. Not with him. There had been something comforting in the way he’d simply smiled, as though he understood the quiet connection they shared in that fleeting glance.

Later, when Joe had asked for help with a form, she couldn’t help but notice how his voice—soft, yet steady—made her pulse quicken. “I’m Joe. Are you from here?” The simplicity of the question, paired with the weight of his gaze, made everything else fade into the background. It was as if the room itself had vanished, leaving just the two of them, and she’d had to swallow the knot that formed in her throat.

The playful challenge at the end—“Can you handle it?”—had been like a spark, igniting something inside her she hadn’t been prepared for. Of course, she could handle it. But it wasn’t just the teasing; it was the way he made her feel both nervous and excited, unsure yet certain all at once. That summer had definitely been one to change her.

As her mind drifted back to the present, sitting in the messy solitude of her college apartment, she glanced at the coffee table Joe had built her, remembering the afternoon it had all started. It had been a typical Saturday—a bare, unfinished space she hadn’t realized bothered her until she’d felt the absence of something as simple as a coffee table.

And then the text. “Ready to say goodbye to your coffee table-less existence?” It had been playful, but it had struck her differently, maybe because it was from him. The way he had shown up with his tools, the teasing smile, and the quiet confidence in his every movement had drawn her in. She had never expected to be so mesmerized by someone wielding a hammer.

As he worked, the teasing had never stopped. But there had been something more beneath it—something in the way he took care in every detail, as if it wasn’t just about building a table, but about being there for her in ways she hadn’t realized she needed. When the table was finished, the apartment had felt different, as if the space had become a home, not just because of the furniture, but because of Joe’s presence.

Her thoughts shifted again, back to one of their first wins. The memory of the game and the way she had watched Joe on the field—the electricity of the crowd, the heartbeat of the stadium—faded as her mind focused on him, on the way he looked at her afterward. His gaze, steady and intense, had stopped her heart. He didn’t need to say much; it was all there in that look, in that moment after the game-winning pass.

And then in the messy LSU branded locker room, the noise of celebration fading into the background as he had asked with that grin: “Are you going to kiss me, or should I kiss you first?”

It had been the simplest thing—just a kiss—but it had changed everything. Sweet, tender, electric with the promise of something neither of them had planned for. She had closed the distance between them, and the kiss had been everything she hadn’t known she needed.

The weight of all these memories pressed down on her now, the realization settling in like a stone in her chest. Two years, sweet and full of joy, and yet it still didn’t feel like enough. But what did she really want? To hold on to something beautiful and fleeting, or let him chase his dream, the one that was pulling him away?

“What would Mom want?” The thought lingered, a quiet voice in the back of her mind. She sighed, standing from the couch and walking toward the bathroom. She glanced at her reflection and was hit by the tiredness in her eyes. Slowly, she peeled off her clothes, staring at the water in the shower as it filled the silence of the room.

The warm water hit her skin like a wash of relief, but it didn’t ease the ache in her heart. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes, trying to push the whirlwind of thoughts away. Was this how it had always been meant to be with Joe? Beautiful and complicated, like something destined but never simple? She stood there, letting the water cascade over her, but the thoughts clung to her, no matter how hard she tried to push them aside.

Eventually, she stepped out of the shower, the cool air of the room immediately pulling her back into the reality she was desperately trying to escape. She dressed in her usual, familiar attire—a faded purple LSU sweatshirt and shorts—something easy and comforting. The simplicity of it all almost felt ironic, given how complicated everything else had become.

She glanced at her phone. Another missed call. Her brother. She felt the flutter of anxiety rise in her chest as she hurried to dial him back, praying he’d pick up.

Pick up, let her be okay… Let her be okay… The mantra repeated in her head as the dial tone echoed in her ears. Once… twice… three times.

Finally, the call connected, and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“Hey, how’s Mom?” she croaked, the relief she felt almost palpable, but it was quickly smothered by the weight of everything still hanging over her.

Adaline sat on the floor, her head spinning, struggling to wrap her mind around the news she’d just received. It didn’t feel real. How could it? Her mother, the woman who had always been her rock, the one who had raised her and her siblings with unwavering love, was now slipping away. The weight of the world seemed to crush her chest, leaving her gasping for air.

She had to go home. She had to take care of her mother. It was the only thing she could do, but it didn’t make the pain any easier to bear.

Her relationship with Joe had been everything she’d ever dreamed of, and now that, too, was falling apart. He was leaving for the NFL, chasing his dream, while she was stuck with hers breaking into a million pieces. Online classes would have to be enough for the rest of the semester, but it felt so empty, so insignificant in the face of what was really happening.

Her heart ached, and the only thing that felt like it could drown out the overwhelming noise was the floor beneath her—cool and comforting in its stillness. If she could just melt into the carpet, maybe the world would stop spinning for a moment. Maybe the hurt would stop.

Then, she heard him.

“Addie? I’m here, sweetheart. Why didn’t you answer the door?” Joe’s voice was full of concern, cutting through the thick haze of her spiraling thoughts. She tried to compose herself, fighting the overwhelming flood of emotion, but it was impossible.

“Joey… I’m in the bedroom…” she croaked, her voice barely above a whisper, and she heard him—the steady rhythm of his footsteps now quickening.

Moments later, he was at her side. She felt him before she saw him, his frame lowering to meet her, his comforting presence filling the room.

“It’s okay, darling. Let it all out.” His voice was gentle, soothing, as he ran his fingers through her hair in an effort to calm her. His touch was a calm against the storm inside her, but the tears still came, unstoppable. His warmth enveloped her, and for a moment, she let herself lean into him, letting the comfort of his arms hold her up. 

She sat beside him, his gentle voice soothing her as she poured out every worry weighing on her heart. She knew their time together was slipping away, yet here he was—caring for her with the same quiet devotion she’d only ever seen in him. She felt the strength in his arms as he lifted her from the floor and carried her to the bed, tucking her beneath the covers with quiet care. He climbed in beside her, wrapping himself around her like a promise he couldn’t keep. She turned to him, folding herself into the warmth of his body as best she could. They stayed that way for hours—though the sorrow in her chest made it feel like days—until finally, she broke the silence.

“I’m going to go home. Take care of Momma.”

Joe didn’t respond right away. She could feel the stillness in his body, the way his breath paused like he was trying to hold something in. His arms tightened around her, just a little.

“I figured,” he said softly. “You’ve been thinking about it for a while.”

She nodded against his chest, her cheek brushing the cotton of his t-shirt. “I thought if I waited out until the summer, it’d be alright. But... it’s not. Not anymore.”

He didn’t argue. That was the thing about Joe — he always knew when to fight, and when to let the other person go.

“Your mom’s lucky,” he finally whispered. “She gets the best part of you.”

She laughed, but it came out more like a sigh. “You’re not making this easier.”

“I’m not trying to.” He kissed the top of her head. “I just want you to remember this. Us.”

She closed her eyes, breathing him in one last time. It was always going to hurt. That was the price of loving someone worth missing.

*five years later.*

“This was the one day I told myself I wouldn’t be late. I have a tour to lead, Ly!” Adaline huffed into the phone, darting around the house as she scrambled to gather the last of her things. She was already dressed in her uniform—a crisp blue shirt with the Cincinnati Zoo logo stitched neatly over the chest pocket, tan khaki shorts, and her worn-in combat boots. Her hair was styled into two buns, a few loose strands framing her face, with a fresh, no-fuss layer of makeup.

She had exactly six minutes until her private behind-the-scenes tour was supposed to begin—and a ten-minute drive to the zoo ahead of her.

Snatching up her keys and bag, she rushed out the door. “If you can start the tour for me—or stall—I’m trying to turn a ten-minute drive into five,” she pleaded, already sliding into her car.

On the other end of the line, her roommate, who’d just finished working an Overnight Adventure shift, chuckled sleepily and promised to cover her until she got there.

The drive to the zoo dragged on, every red light conspiring against her. It felt like she’d taken the longest route possible—or maybe just hit the only two traffic lights that mattered. Finally, she pulled into the employee-only parking lot, laughing with a friend as they both glanced at the time. She was late—a rare occurrence.

Bursting through the doors, she grabbed the set of keys she knew she’d need for the tour and immediately called Lylah—her best friend.

“Ly, where are you? I’m grabbing a golf cart now,” she said, hopping into a fifteen-passenger cart and firing it up.

“Still at the front, chatting with the group,” Lylah replied. “I told them their guide was just a little frazzled this morning and running a bit behind. They seem cool. I think you’re going to like them. Actually…” Her voice dropped slightly. “They said I could tag along—and there’s a cute guy I wouldn’t mind getting to know…”

Adaline could practically hear the blush in her friend’s voice and burst out laughing.

“Alright, alright. I’ll swing by to pick you up in a minute.” She hung up, grinning, and continued her drive to the front of the zoo, waving to coworkers and excited kids as she zipped past in the cart.

Finally, she pulled up to the front entrance, spotting Lylah right away and grinning.

“Anyone order a late tour guide and a fifteen-seater golf cart for the zoo adventure of a lifetime?” she called out, flashing a smile at the group gathered around her friend.

As she scanned their faces, her smile faltered for just a moment—everyone looked to be around her age, similar builds and heights. She could’ve sworn she was scheduled for a kids’ tour. Maybe there’d been a mix-up.

Her eyes lingered on one guy in particular—something about him looked familiar. But before she could dwell on it, she shook the thought away and launched into her intro speech.

“Alright! Hi, everyone. My name is Adaline, but you can call me Addie. I’ve been working at the beautiful Cincinnati Zoo for about a year and a half now, and I’m also finishing up my degree through this program. If you ever see me ask my lovely assistant Lylah here to take photos or videos, don’t worry—it’s just for my portfolio, nothing weird,” she said with a small laugh.

“The tour will last about three hours, so if anyone needs to use the bathroom, now’s a good time! Don’t worry, there’s a stop built into the tour, too.” She paused, taking a quick breath.

“I tend to ramble—which is kind of my job—but seriously, ask me questions! I love talking about animals. I’ll even answer a few personal questions as long as they’re appropriate,” she added with a wink.

“Oh! One last thing—I packed gift bags thinking this was a kids' tour, so they’re full of coloring books and animal stickers. We can swing by the office at the end and swap them out for something a little more age-appropriate.”

She looked around at the group. “Any questions or concerns before we get rolling?”

As the rest of the group scattered to take a quick bathroom break, the guy who’d felt oddly familiar stepped up to her.

“Hey, I’m Ja'marr,” he said, offering a warm smile. “I don’t know if you remember me—we went to LSU together? I was a year behind you, played football?”

Addie’s smile spread as the memories clicked into place. She remembered him from a few classes, but mostly from the hangouts she used to attend when she and Joe were together.

“Oh! You were Joe’s friend, right?” she said brightly, trying to mask the sudden twist in her chest. The sound of his name alone sent her reeling back—to late nights on campus, whispered conversations in his apartment, the last kiss before it all ended.

“I think about him a good bit now,” she added, eyes soft. “I’ve heard he’s doing really well.”

She exchanged a quick look with Lylah just as the group began filtering back in.

“Okay! If this is everyone, we can get started,” she chirped, brushing off the emotion and turning back toward the driver’s seat of the golf cart.

“Oh, we’re actually still waiting on one more,” a girl in the group piped up. “He was running late this morning too.”

Adaline turned to Lylah, stepping closer. “You sure you don’t want to head home? You worked overnight—I know that’s brutal.”

Lylah shook her head, grinning. “I’m good! Besides… Mason’s kind of a cutie. And I think the feeling might be mutual.”

Addie rolled her eyes. “I don’t mean to be your mom, but as your roommate, I’m just looking out for—”

Then she stopped.

He was walking up, casually running a hand through those familiar dirty-blonde waves. Just as handsome. Just as magnetic. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Joe…” she whispered, almost like she was speaking to a ghost.

Lylah’s brow furrowed as she turned to follow Addie’s gaze. A new guy had joined the group.

“Oh… Joe?” she asked, whipping her head back around to Addie. “The Joe?”

Addie didn’t answer right away. Her eyes welled, lips trembling just slightly. Then she nodded, once. Silent tears slid down her cheeks before she took a deep breath and tucked the emotion back into its place.

“We’re all good now!” Ja'marr said with a grin, sensing the moment but smoothing it over.

Adaline climbed into the driver’s seat, clearing her throat as she started up the golf cart. Lylah hopped in beside her, throwing out a cheerful, “Climb aboard!” as the rest of the group settled in. She looked to her best friend, a silent thank you, in the air between the two of them. 

As they drove past the exhibits, Addie spoke animatedly, her passion shining through in every fact and fun tidbit she shared. It was rare she got to lead a group her own age, and she was thriving in it. The behind-the-scenes tour was her favorite, and today, it felt even more electric.

She steered through one of the many employees only gates, glancing into the rearview mirror with a mischievous grin.

“Buckle up, y’all. It’s about to get good,” she teased, watching the excitement flicker across a few faces.

The cart glided down a narrow road, torch-lit on either side, leading toward a massive door at the back of the property.

“Alright, now’s the perfect time for those random questions I told you I’d answer,” she called out. “And just so you know, that big door up ahead? It’s home to the most famous lady in the whole zoo—Miss Fiona.”

Behind her, she caught the low rumble of Joe’s voice. “Did I miss much?” he asked Ja'marr, who sat beside him.

“Just her intro,” Ja'marr said. “She said we could ask anything… as long as it’s not too private.”

Before she could focus on what they were saying, a girl in the group piped up. “So, where’d you go to school?”

Addie lit up. “Thank you for asking! I did my first two years at LSU, studying zoology and veterinary tech. Then… life happened, and I finished the next two years online through LSU. Now I’m completing the last bit of my Master’s through their online program, while interning here at the zoo.”

Her voice was proud, grounded. Her story had weight—one she didn’t often share in full, but the short version still carried that quiet resilience.

They arrived at the big steel door. She slowed the cart to a stop, turning off the ignition and climbing out. The group followed, buzzing with anticipation. Standing at the front with Lylah, Addie took a moment to scan the group again.

And this time, her gaze met his.

Joe.

The moment hung still. She offered him a soft, sincere smile—brief but honest—before turning her attention back to the group.

“So,” she began, “this is the part where I give you the serious warning: hippos can be dangerous. Yes, they’re cute. Yes, Fiona is a queen. But hippos do eat people. So—please—don’t go past me. Ever.”

She gave the group a moment to let that settle.

“I say that bluntly because, once, a kid thought a guide was joking and… well, it almost ended very badly. These animals know us. They trust us. That’s the beauty of working in a zoo—we get to love our beautiful friends every single day. And they love us back. But they’re still wild. Respect is everything.”

She took a breath, centering herself before moving forward.

“Now, before we get into this next part of the tour, I like to do introductions. Helps me connect with y’all, and it makes things a little more personal. I’ll go first.” She smiled, letting her voice lighten again. “My name is Adaline Covington. I’m 26, originally from Louisiana, and a fun fact about me is that I know how to play at least eight sports.”

Lylah stepped up next, beaming.

“My name’s Lylah Covington—no relation to Addie, sadly. I’m from Ohio, also 26. I went to OSU, I’m Addie’s roommate, and a fun fact about me? I’ve ridden a giraffe. It was terrifying.”

The group laughed, and Addie relaxed, her nerves starting to settle—at least for now.

The introductions continued, laughter mixing with curiosity as Addie began to match names to faces.

There was Mason—tall, brunette, and charming in a quiet way—clearly the one Lylah had her eye on. Then came Payton and Stella, practically glued at the hip, finishing each other’s sentences and giggling at inside jokes. And finally, there was the trio of Ja'marr, Tee—who proudly declared his love for jellyfish—and Joe.

Joe, who also seemed to be sticking close to Ja'marr, like old habits hadn’t quite died.

“I’m Joe Burrow,” he said, his voice cool and familiar. “I’m from Ohio, I’m 28… and my fun fact is… I don’t think I have one.”

He looked right at her when he said it.

Addie rolled her eyes instinctively, biting back a grin. She could list at least five off the top of her head. You can build a coffee table, you make a killer gumbo, you know how to parallel park on the first try…

Before she could say anything, Ja'marr jumped in, laughing. “Bull, man. You’ve got so many fun facts!”

Joe just shook his head with a smirk, like he was holding something back. Something meant only for her.

“I think he’s right,” Addie said, sing-song and stubborn, arms crossed with a teasing glint in her eyes. “We are not moving on with the tour until I get a proper fun fact from every single person here.”

She gave Joe a pointed look, smirking as he stared back at her with exaggerated exasperation.

Lylah chimed in, grinning as she nudged his shoulder. “Aren’t you, like… the quarterback of the Bengals or something? That’s a pretty decent fun fact, don’t you think?”

Joe shook his head with a low chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck like he’d been caught red-handed. “I figured that one was a little too on the nose.”

Addie raised an eyebrow, leaning her weight onto one hip. “Well, if you’ve got something better than that, now’s your chance to impress us.”

The group chuckled around him, eyes shifting curiously his way, while Addie just held his gaze—challenging, but soft. The way she used to when they were wrapped in quiet competition over something as simple as board games or who could find the best takeout spot.

He smiled, finally caving. “Alright. Fun fact… I can build a coffee table from scratch.”

Addie laughed, surprised but secretly pleased. Of course he picked the one she was thinking of.

“Now that’s more like it,” she said, turning back to the group as she clapped her hands together. “Let’s meet Fiona.”

The group followed Addie and Lylah through a secured gate, entering a quieter area of the zoo. The sound of public chatter faded, replaced by distant animal calls and the hum of overhead fans keeping the enclosures cool. Addie’s pace slowed just slightly, her tone shifting from playful to reverent.

“Alright, y’all,” she said, her voice softening as she approached a reinforced railing. “This… is Fiona’s world.”

The group stepped up to the edge, eyes wide as they caught their first glimpse of her. The hippo was half-submerged in a large, crystal-clear pool, her round ears twitching as she lifted her snout just above the surface.

“She’s gorgeous,” someone whispered.

Addie smiled like a proud big sister. “She really is. Fiona is the first Nile hippo to survive being born six weeks premature. She weighed just 29 pounds at birth—about a third of what she was supposed to. But this girl? She fought. And now she’s a national treasure.”

The group leaned in, captivated. Fiona bobbed closer to the glass, almost as if she knew she was the main event.

“She’s a little spoiled,” Addie added with a grin. “Knows exactly how cute she is. Knows she runs the place.”

Joe stood a little back from the group, but he wasn’t watching Fiona.

He was watching her.

The way Addie’s voice softened when she spoke about the hippo. The way her eyes lit up as she explained the little details—how Fiona preferred watermelon over cantaloupe, how she had a special bond with one of the keepers, how she once photobombed a wedding proposal.

“She’s the reason I kept pushing through school,” Addie said suddenly, quieter now. “I interned here once when I was nineteen. First time I met Fiona, I knew I wanted to be a part of something like this. Something that mattered.”

The group fell quiet. It was the kind of moment that didn’t need filler.

Joe’s voice, low and warm, finally cut in. “I remember when you talked about her. Back at LSU. You had that picture of her taped to your fridge.”

Addie glanced at him, surprised—but not unpleasantly.

“I did,” she said, lips curving. “You always made fun of me for it.”

Joe gave a little shrug. “I didn’t get it back then. I do now.”

For a split second, the years between them didn’t exist.

Then Lylah cleared her throat, gently breaking the moment. “Alright, friends. Who’s ready to see Fiona get her favorite treat?”

Addie blinked, her smile coming back to life. “That’s your cue to get your cameras ready. Because she’s about to lose her mind over frozen watermelon cubes.”

As the group crowded around, laughing and snapping photos, Addie quietly stepped closer to the railing, tossing a chilled watermelon chunk toward Fiona with practiced ease. The hippo opened her massive mouth, catching it with impressive precision.

The crowd clapped. Fiona grunted happily. And Joe—still a few steps back—couldn’t take his eyes off her.

As Fiona munched away happily, her wide jaws working through watermelon like it was candy, Addie clapped her hands, signaling the end of that portion of the tour.

“Alright, friends! Next stop is our elephant habitat—another behind-the-scenes favorite. But first, I need to go grab something from the keeper’s office. Lylah, will you hold down the fort for me?”

“Got it,” Lylah said, hopping up onto the edge of the cart. “You heard the lady—stay hydrated, stay within eyesight, and no trying to pet any hippos on the way out.”

Addie gave a quick salute before slipping through a nearby staff door and disappearing down the hallway.

The group naturally shifted into small clumps, stretching their legs, sipping water, chatting. But Ja'marr—ever the instigator—turned to Joe with a grin already forming.

“So,” he said, dragging the word out dramatically. “That was a very informative little stop. And also… are we just not gonna talk about the elephant in the room?”

“You mean Fiona?” Joe deadpanned, sipping from a water bottle.

Ja'marr snorted. “Nah, man. I mean you staring at Addie like she’s the sunrise and you forgot what daylight looked like.”

Tee nearly spit out his drink. “Damn, chill,” he laughed. “Subtlety is not in your skillset, huh?”

Joe sighed, giving them a tight smile. “Y’all are ridiculous.”

“We’re ridiculous?” Ja'marr shot back. “Bro, you’re the one who looked like you were gonna volunteer to get in the hippo pool if she asked.”

“Should I get my bridesmaid dress now or later?” Stella chimed in, grinning wickedly from beside Payton.

Payton nodded sagely. “I’ve already got the Pinterest board ready.”

Joe shook his head, laughing in spite of himself. “Y’all are doing the most.”

“But tell us this,” Ja'marr said, stepping in closer, his voice dropping to a slightly more serious tone. “Is this gonna be awkward? ‘Cause if it is, we can chill, back off, whatever. But if it’s not…”

“It’s not,” Joe said, surprising even himself a little with how quickly he answered. “I don’t think it is.”

The others looked at each other knowingly.

“Okay,” Ja'marr said, nodding like he’d just been briefed for a mission. “Then I’m doubling down on wingman duties.”

Just as Joe was about to argue, Addie reappeared, a binder in one hand and her radio in the other. Her eyes scanned the group, pausing briefly on him—just long enough to notice the faint pink at the tips of his ears.

“Everyone still behaving?” she asked, climbing back into the driver’s seat.

“Define ‘behaving,’” Ja'marr said with a wink.

“Great,” Addie said, rolling her eyes and starting the engine. “Next stop—let’s go meet the ladies with the trunks.”

The golf cart hummed to life, pulling out of the quiet path and back into motion. Lylah grinned at Joe, who gave a little shake of his head, mouthing, Help me.

She just smiled, leaning in and whispering, “You’re so screwed.”

As the cart rolled along the winding zoo paths, Addie kept her eyes forward, one hand loosely on the steering wheel, the other flipping through a laminated sheet clipped to her binder.

Joe was seated in the row just behind her, next to Lylah and Ja'marr—though Ja'marr had thankfully decided to give him a breather, currently leaned over to whisper something wild to Stella and Tee that made both of them laugh way too hard.

Joe shifted forward slightly, resting his forearms on the back of Addie’s seat. “Hey,” he said quietly, just loud enough for her to hear over the hum of the cart.

She glanced back at him, brows raised. “Yeah?”

“I just wanted to say… you’re good at this,” he said. “Like—really good. You make it seem easy.”

Addie blinked, then looked back at the road ahead, her grip tightening ever so slightly on the wheel. A small smile tugged at her lips. “Thanks. It’s the first time I’ve felt like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

Joe nodded, leaning back just a little but still close. “You look like it. Happy, I mean.”

There was a pause between them. Just the sound of the tires on gravel and the laughter bubbling behind them.

She didn’t look back when she spoke again.

“I am,” she said, then hesitated. “Most days.”

He caught that. And she knew he did.

But she didn’t clarify—and neither did he.

Instead, she glanced over her shoulder just briefly and flashed him a smile, this one smaller, more private. “Don’t let Ja'marr bully you too hard. He’ll calm down in, like… two hours.”

Joe chuckled. “Good. That’s only the rest of the tour.”

She laughed, a soft, easy sound that made something in his chest twist just a little.

“Hang in there, quarterback,” she said, teasing, before smoothly pulling the cart to a stop near the elephant enclosure. “Alright, team, trunk time!”

As the others hopped off the cart and gathered their things, Joe lingered a second longer, watching her as she slid out of the seat and slung the binder under her arm, already switching back into guide mode.

And in that second, he realized two things:

She hadn’t changed nearly as much as he thought.

And he still wasn’t over her.

The sun had started to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the zoo as Addie led the group toward their final stop.

“Alright,” she said, her voice a little hoarse from hours of animated talking, but still holding its spark. “Y’all are officially on the final leg of the best zoo tour you’ll probably ever take—unless you come back, in which case, I will totally one-up myself.”

They came around a bend and stopped in front of a heavy, steel-gated pathway marked “Restricted Staff Access.” She unlocked it with a swipe of her badge and waved everyone through.

Beyond it was the tiger habitat—one of the zoo’s more secluded areas. The large viewing glass stretched from the outdoor enclosure to a quieter, indoor den, where one of the tigers was lounging on a raised platform, tail flicking lazily.

“This is Kaavi,” Addie said, her voice dropping into something softer. “She’s one of our Malayan tigers, and she is pure muscle, attitude, and grace. She’s also my favorite, but don’t tell the others.”

The group spread out a bit, watching the big cat through the glass, murmuring in awe as Kaavi turned her head lazily toward them, golden eyes blinking slow and deliberate.

Addie let the moment breathe, then leaned against the railing, letting the calm settle.

“She was born in captivity,” she added. “Didn’t have to fight for her place in the wild, but she still has that fire. There’s this misconception that animals in zoos aren’t wild anymore—but I think they just learn how to survive in new ways. They don’t lose the fire, they just carry it differently.”

Her words hung in the air, weightier than she probably meant them to be. Joe watched her as she spoke, the way her eyes lingered on the tiger, how her voice softened into reverence.

Behind him, Ja'marr whispered, “She’s giving a National Geographic and heartbreak.”

“Shut up,” Joe muttered under his breath, lips twitching.

After a few quiet moments, Addie turned back to the group, hands slipping into her back pockets. “Alright, folks. That’s it for the tour. You officially survived three hours with me and didn’t even need a tranquilizer dart. I’m impressed.”

They laughed, slowly making their way back toward the cart. Lylah started gathering everyone’s water bottles and wrappers as Addie hung back to lock the gate behind them.

Joe waited.

She noticed.

Once the others were far enough ahead, he cleared his throat. “That thing you said. About learning how to carry the fire differently.”

She turned to look at him, brows raised.

“That wasn’t just about Kaavi, was it?”

Addie looked at him for a long moment, the wind picking up a strand of her hair and brushing it against her cheek. “Maybe not,” she said quietly. “But I’ve learned it doesn’t really matter who you’re talking about. Fire’s fire.”

Joe stepped a little closer, just enough that she tilted her head to meet his eyes.

“Addie—”

But she held a hand up, gentle. “Joe… not here. Not right now.”

He nodded, lips pressing into a thin line. “But maybe later?”

Her eyes searched his, soft and unsure—but not closed off.

“Maybe,” she said.

And then she turned, walking toward the cart, calling out for everyone to climb in for the ride back.

Joe watched her go, hands in his pockets, heart in his throat.

Back at the front gates, the group gathered one last time, buzzing with that tired, sun-drunk energy from a long day well spent. Lylah was leaned against the cart, laughing at something Mason had said, while Payton and Stella took selfies with the zoo entrance sign behind them.

Addie handed out the correct gift bags she’d promised at the beginning, personalized just enough to make them feel special—zoo merch, stickers, and even a few laminated animal fact cards she’d written herself.

Ja'Marr took his with a smirk. “Okay, this is legit. Do you handwrite the fun facts for everyone?”

“Only for my favorite groups,” Addie grinned.

Joe stepped up last. She held out his bag, fingers brushing his as he took it.

“You gonna keep this one too?” she asked, teasing gently, remembering how he used to save little things she gave him—notes, ticket stubs, even a cracked keychain from the LSU gift shop.

He looked down at the bag, then back at her. “Yeah. Think I will.”

There was a beat of silence between them, just long enough to feel like a secret.

Then Lylah jogged over, keys in hand. “Okay, lovebirds. I need to get some sleep before I pass out and start naming squirrels in my dreams. Addie, you ready?”

Addie looked at Joe, her smile faint but warm. “Just a sec.”

The group started toward the parking lot, trailing away in twos and threes. Joe lingered.

“You didn’t have to talk to me today,” he said quietly. “Could’ve ignored me. Or been cold.”

Addie shook her head, folding her arms. “You’re not someone I could ever ignore, Joe. You never were.”

He stepped forward, a little closer than he had all day, his voice dropping. “I don’t know what happens next. Or if anything does. But I’d like to see you again.”

She studied him—those same eyes, same voice, but older now. A little more wear, a little more depth.

“I’ll think about it,” she said softly, the corners of her mouth lifting. “But if you really want to impress me, next time… show up on time.”

He let out a soft laugh, and she could hear the relief in it.

Then, without another word, she turned and jogged toward her car.

Joe watched her go—same as he had so many times before— this time, he felt the shift in the air.

This time, she wasn’t gone.

Not really.

thank you for taking the time to read! much love <3

if the name is an issue! don't worry- a cute nickname can be put into place instead! just let me know :)

[annabelle-creart]

New Trolhunters Au

Not necessarily nothing new.....

Just had a weird dream and wanted to make all more dramatic................

...nothing new, actually, just.... drama- more under the cut- let me explain- I promise it has sense- please read it:

It all started in a dream, and then I made everything weird-

Jim Lake is a shy, clumsy and down-to-Earth boy, he has no idea what he will do after school but refuses to be doctor because he can't stand seeing people die like what happened with his father... oh, yes, his father, James Lake Senior, didn't abandoned them when Jim was five, instead, he died of sickness when Jim was 11, and it was shit, Jim had been sacrificing his own childhood making chores and taking care of her mother so she can work and take care of James, and yet all was in vain because he died and since then he's barely counting it as he survives having just one friend, Toby. Also, he likes Claire since he was a little kid because she gifted him her doll because his toy broke and since then he appreciates her and likes her

Toby, compared to Jim, is quite popular, charismatic, social and smart enough to make conversation, easily conquered Darcy Scott and managed to make her father like him, he's the coolest guy around, but if you ask him, definitely he will say his best friend in the world is Jim Lake Jr. Who is right here- he vanished... Jim doesn't like attention or crowds. Also, both Toby's parents are alive but they travel all time and Toby doesn't like them for not paying him the slightest of attention, instead, he sees Nanny and Barbara as his true moms

Claire Maria Nuñez, apathetic, against government, vegetarian and emo, the worst combination for a conservative white mexican family in Arcadia Oaks, his father works all day and her mother is councilwoman and when they're home, they're taking care of her baby brother, Enrique, and she HATES HIM- DAMN BABY DOESN'T SHUT UP! She definitely prefers NotEnrique the changeling, but yet she fights to get her baby brother back home because, well, is a baby in another dimension. She plays the guitar and loves acting

And All was normal... until it wasn't

Jim and Toby found a weird glowing clock-like thing, they kept it to see more of it, Toby goes to say hi to Darcy and everyone else on the way and Jim is left alone by accident with Steve, he vanishes quickly thanks to Eli and goes to class

The history teacher, Walter Strickler, is giving his classes as usual, he asks Jim something but says anything by pure awkwardness, yet, Strickler uses his wrong answer to make a plot-twist to make it the right answer (mostly because he knows Jim knows the correct answer), he really likes the kid, he's sweet, and he only needs someone to take care of him. Jim and Toby go

Walter Strickler, a history teacher that everyone sees common and normal but in reality is a changeling that barely keeps his life on place, he tries to conquer the world for the Janus Order at the same time he takes breakfast and signs his student's exams, that man haven't got more than one fucking hour of sleep and less than three cups of double coffee both in morning and in nights since his husband died... and that was like 5 or 7 years ago, he can't even keep a track of time properly. Also, because it's cheaper, he lives with his best friend in the world since they were whelps and favorite side-kick Nomura

Zelda Nomura, an art curator that works for Arcadia's museum so she can receive all gumn gumn artifacts, yes, she's a changeling too, she lives with Strickler since she divorced with a man that didn't even like her, because it's cheaper and because she doesn't trust in the man anymore to be alone by it's own, Strickler is a disaster and she knows it. She's smart, clever and careful of everything but also enough charismatic to do anything by herself, she's also even a better fighter than Strickler

Later, Jim and Toby at Jim's house were playing video games when a pair of silhouettes got in the house when Barbara was out for work, they discovered two trolls stealing the amulet they had discovered before, and by pure instinct, Jim activates the amulet, which doesn't have sense because 1) Jim is human, and 2) The amulet never called his name before

Blinkous Galadrigal, a scholar and a trollhunter trainer, he's a nice guy in general despite his only current priority in the world is making the trollhunter able of living another day and protect him, he's not the best of warrior but is really smart, has knowledge about almost all trolls know and even what they shouldn't know, he was better in everything than his older brother Dictatous but that's another story, right now he's trying to keep himself from falling apart because just this morning he saw the love of his life die and now has to train a human kid... a very traumatized one, while also trying to deal with his step-son (which he does poorly)

Also, we have Arghamount, yes, Arghamount, not AARRRGH!!!, Arghamount, he was a krubera captain in a big city under the surface centuries ago (he lived in that city since a whelp because his kind had to ran away because of their last's queen treachery), unfortunately, they were attacked with no warning by the more powerful gumn gumn army of the time, commanded by Gunmar the Black, fortunately, he, his family and a group of survivors made their way away from war, finding Glastonbury Tor Trollmarket and living there since then, then things happened and all had to go to the new world and here we are

On the other hand, Claire only wanted to be Hamlet, but instead Miss Janet choose this unflavored, scaredy kid, Jim Lake, so, she starts making little jokes to him to make his life impossible during essays, so, Claire can be Hamlet, none of them work, but he still misses the essays and Claire manages to become Hamlet and Jim passes to be a secondary character, until Jim finds Claire in trouble and tries to save her and something of something does and doesn't and she finds out this shit of changelings is serious and here we are, now she's part of the team and Toby doesn't like her because she's unbearable on his eyes

Also! before all the trouble with Claire, obviously, Jim finds out he has to kill this idiot named Bular the Butcher, but idiot just because the team don't like him, he's actually very much smart than he appears, most of the plans are made by him, he's just too egotistical to actually step where Jim loves most... until he finds Strickler likes the kid... but that's another story! Bular is also the gumn gumn prince...

On the other hand! Jim is also fucked up in Trollmarket because Vendel, the elder of the town, doesn't like the kid, also, there's this weird krubera queen that is from the "last krubera tribe that survived Gunmar" but that's shit, she sold her own species in chance to survive but that's a little secret for another time and she happens time later after Vender, also we have Draal, Ngora, Vernonia, Dictatous, Angor Rot, Merlin, Gunmar, Morgana and blablabla, let me resume

Draal is an idiot who wanted the amulet and thought it was for him but instead the amulet "chose" a human kid and he doesn't like that, he's a brute at best and both egotistical and driven by anger, nonetheless, he later starts to treat right this kid because, well, he saved his life on battle. Also, he still has beef with Blinky for having something with his father, Kanjigar (man has more daddy issues than Bular)

Also we have Ngora, Arghamount's wife and healer of Heartstone Trollmarket, she does a bit of everything and is pretty smart, but hates violence at best and prefers staying away from trollhunter's manners, she's most a domestic troll, but life isn't easy and she will not let her husband go to battle at his age, not alone at least

Vernonia is traveler merchant who sometimes comes and visits and brings interesting items for the team to use, she's also adventurous and courageous, also a skilled warrior, she's also Arghamount and Ngora's daughter

Dictatous, always the black sheep of the family, now the damn wolf, he's egotistical at beast and preferred to be Gunmar's second hand in chance of surviving being kidnapped to the darklands, also driven by jealousy for his younger brother, Blinky

Angor Rot, an assassin controlled by a magical ring Strickler has, he went in search for power because his village was destroyed by Gunmar and instead, he found an evil witch who used him to hunt trollhunters, because, Gunmar was in almost all places by this point and the trollhunters had to travel a lot, finding their paths crossed with this hell of a troll. Also, he's Ngora's older brother, and yes, he knows Arghamount, Angor was at their wedding day

Merlin-

Morgana is the evil witch, yes, she's mistress of evil and only does things to fuck up the world because... yes

Gunmar the Black, a damn giant troll born from destruction and made to MAKE destruction, he will bury down your village in ashes because... yes

Merlin is-

Merlin: This is not okay

Jim: sorry?

Vernonia: eh, are you okay, old man?

Blinky: Ah- Great Merlin, what is wrong-?

Merlin: all this is wrong

Toby: ...what's wrong?

Claire: I think he's senile or something

Merlin: no no no- this is not supposed to be like this!

Draal: I don't understand

Merlin: You are not supposed to exist!

Vernonia: excuse me?

Merlin: you are not supposed to be with them

Angor Rot: yep, he's senile

Merlin: You are suppose to be dead!

Draal: what?!

Toby: dude, what's your problem?!

Arghamount: how you dare-!

Jim: WOW WOW WOW! I this this is just a simple misunderstanding! Ah, Merlin, right? I'm Jim, the trollhunter! You're amulet chose me, hehe

Merlin: yes, that was supposed to happen... when did it call you?

Jim: sorry? Oh! Well, we think that because I am a human, the amulet didn't call my name exactly, but, it lets me wear it, so-

Merlin: no... it had to call you

Jim: ah... but it didn't...

Merlin: ...this is not okay

[ukhta]

Maybe one day

He was just adjusting the bandages on his ankle when the tavern door swung open, and the fire in the fireplace flared up; Damian hissed through his teeth, turning away and pulling his hood over his head.

Hiding was pointless; he had already been found. However, pride wouldn't let him give up without a fight. The monotonous chatter in the tavern began to fade. With every step the approaching man took, more people fell silent; a barely audible "Dragon, dragon!" swept through the crowd. Approving shouts and greetings echoed.

What did they love about this werewolf? A crowned half-human, a half-reptile — it was incomprehensible; an animal sat on the throne, wild and predatory. Why did all these people...

The young man swallowed back cruel words. A dull pain shot through his ankle, driving him crazy for hours; he was hungry and, moreover, soaked and tired. The dragon was... and of course, but the love for him among his people was not the true reason for his anger.

The half-human stopped, his cloak rustling across the floor. Damian kept his gaze fixed on the inviting fireplace. He knew he had been caught. Knew that it would be this way — it was meant to happen.

Timothy knelt down, and his fiery palm covered Damian's cold, still damp hand.

"This time, you're far away," the dragon murmured almost inaudibly.

A thunderclap sounded outside. In its flash, at the periphery, Damian noticed: a soaked cloak, water dripping from his hair. The dragon had been looking for him in the rain, in the bad weather, knowing full well he wouldn’t be able to escape.

And he kept watching, without taking his eyes away. Unaware of how the tavern's patrons and owners were staring at them.

Damian said nothing — his pride, shame, and anger had glued his mouth shut. He didn't lower his hands, didn't shift his gaze to the dragon.

Timothy continued to look at him, like a loyal dog.

"Do you want to stay here for the night?" he asked softly, gently stroking the skin on Damian's hand that was starting to crack. "Or should I find a more comfortable place?"

Damian pressed his lips together; the recovering tavern owner immediately spoke up:

"We will prepare the best room for you! And a bath! And dinner on the house! For our dragon," he said with a flourish of his winged lizard brooch, "we will not hold back. The best rest at the 'Dragon's Egg' that is possible!"

Laughter rippled through the crowd; it seemed the name was a frequent topic of jokes here. Timothy said nothing in response, and the silence between them dragged on so long that Damian reluctantly parted his lips:

"Here."

The dragon tenderly stroked his hand again. He continued to look, boring a hole into Damian with his attentive gaze, when he spoke louder to the crowd:

"Everything you promised, and breakfast. I will pay."

The owner immediately bustled about, and the familiar tavern buzz returned. People raised toasts to the dragon as if his presence here was their achievement; a song started, and a lyre began to ring. A few drunkards twirled in an awkward dance, kicking up dust from the floor.

The dragon had already created a fair-sized puddle around them when the owner called them upstairs, still bustling about excessively and preening. Damian struggled to shake off his paralysis, and Timothy immediately sprang up to help him rise.

The young man shot an angry glare at him. So many people were watching them and so many conversations were being raised that by morning the whole village would know who had been there and what they had done — every move they made — and least of all did Damian want to present himself as weak in the eyes of others and even less to allow the dragon to play on that.

But he wasn’t doing it for show. In Timothy’s world, there was no one else existing right now. Right now — and in general.

With a clear effort, the dragon allowed him to walk up one flight of stairs on his own two feet, but as soon as they were alone, he effortlessly scooped the young man into his arms.

“Save your leg for another escape,” he whispered, and warm breath brushed against Damian’s cheek. The heat of his body penetrated the young man through and through, warming him to the bone, as if he had finally received permission. “I will take care of you until then.”

Damian rested his head on Timothy’s shoulder and closed his eyes — unintentionally. The warmth of the hands holding his own, the warmth of the dragon’s chest was so enticing to him, frozen and drenched, that he was unaware of it. What was worse: as soon as the door closed behind them and Timothy set him down on a chair, a pitiful, pleading sound escaped from Damian’s throat.

“I know,” the werewolf said tenderly, as if this small foolishness wasn’t humiliating for the prince, “the bath is already ready. I’ll warm it up, and you change. How is your leg?”

“You shouldn’t fly in a storm,” Damian mumbled awkwardly, clinging to his wet cloak. Timothy immediately sat down beside him, gently peeling the cold hands of the young man from the fabric and intertwining their fingers.

“I didn’t fly,” he promised. “I rode in from the nearest town, and walked through the village. The horse threw me off as soon as I saw the lights of the houses. How’s your leg, dear?”

People didn’t like the dragon’s animals. They adored them, even worshiped. Damian... still didn’t know what he felt. The fiery hands held him gently, not giving him a chance to squirm away.

“It aches. I twisted it when I was making my way through the city. And... already in the tavern.”

Timothy’s lips formed a sad, unhappy line. He comfortingly ran his hands down Damian’s forearm, once again giving out his unasked tenderness.

“Change your clothes,” he said softly, “I’ll prepare the water and go downstairs for the medicine. I’ll leave some ointment for you.”

Damian nodded. The lump in his throat didn’t allow him to express how grateful he was to the dragon.

He washed up, dried himself, changed into a nightshirt, and was just about to tend to his ankle when the dragon returned. How he knew every time that Damian was done, the young man didn’t know. Perhaps just as he found out, no matter how deep he tried to escape from his husband.

“Not a single decent doctor in the whole village,” the dragon murmured barely audibly, handing him the medicine. “Drink, dear. It should take away the pain and inflammation. At home, I could take better care of you, but for now, this is all I can do.”

The young man obediently took a sip of the medicine; the pain in his leg ceased its incessant throbbing after the warm water, but an echo of pain lingered in his muscles, promising to remind him of itself during the night when the entire tavern would be asleep. He would have preferred this punishment for his foolishness, his distrust, his...

The dragon was busy changing and drying himself behind the screen, and Damian could see his back; he deliberately wouldn’t look away from the wall. The medicine habitually tasted bitter on his tongue, infused with healing herbs, calming his thoughts; many — but not all.

The young man finished the glass just as Timothy changed.

"Let me," the dragon whispered, taking the ointment; Damian would have refused if the touch of his hands hadn’t felt so magical.

He silently endured Timothy pouring his love onto him, literally massaging it into his skin. When the bandages were finally wrapped around his ankle, and the dragon wiped his hands on a rag, all Damian wanted was to sleep so that treacherous thoughts would stop jumping around in his head like fleas. He pulled the plate that had been resting on the bedside stool closer to him, sensing that his hunger had vanished even before he touched the first piece. With difficulty, the young man finished his dinner, all the while catching the attentive gaze of his dragon; trying to distract himself from it, he belatedly realized that the tavern owner truly hadn’t been stingy with the food.

Just as he was about to lie down, Timothy spoke up again:

"I’ll take a place by the door."

He fervently wanted to clarify: "On the floor?" but Damian allowed the dragon to lie on the side farthest from the window without question. He settled down at the most respectful distance the bed would allow him.

With bitter irony, the young man thought: this is how they slept — husbands. Soon it would be a year of their married life.

He blew out the candles and lay down. In the darkness of countless nights, Damian had already learned that the dragon could see well even without light and didn’t allow himself to turn toward him, to try to find his silhouette in the dark. In the noise of the pouring rain outside, he whispered only:

"I’ll run away again."

"Only after your leg heals," his husband immediately replied. And he added even more gently: "Please."

Damian waited until Timothy fell asleep — forced himself to believe he had fallen asleep — and then he carefully shifted closer to him. Without hesitating for a second, the dragon wrapped an arm around him and pulled him in tightly. The consuming thoughts that Damian was anyone but a suitable husband for the dragon fell silent; others came to replace them. All gradually betrayed him: grandfather, mother, father, brothers. The father alone did the little he could to atone for his sins: he married him off to the dragon; to one who wouldn’t want to and couldn’t betray him.

Damian kept testing him, knowing that one day he would give in and stop running away. That one day he would trust that Timothy wouldn’t abandon him, and perhaps that would become his greatest...

The dragon stirred as if hearing his thoughts and tightened his embrace. He pressed against Damian, wrapping him in a protective cocoon, and the burning heat of him penetrated the young man down to his bones.

...luck.

The leg no longer ached. The rain, if it didn’t stop by morning, would give Timothy reason to come up with a hundred excuses unfit for his royal status to stay in bed for one more day, curled up in a ball of burning embraces.

And if it does stop... Damian could lie about his leg. He could come up with a sufficiently convincing lie and a hundred meaningless and pointless excuses to stay here for at least a few more hours.

↓ RU :

Он как раз поправлял повязки на лодыжке, когда дверь в таверну распахнулась, и пламя в камине возликовало; Дэмиен зашип��л сквозь зубы, отворачиваясь и закрываясь капюшоном.

Прятаться было бесполезно; он его уже нашел. Гордость, однако, не позволяла с��аться без сопротивления.

Монотонная болтовня в таверне стала затихать. С каждым шагом приближавшегося к нему человека замолкало все больше людей; едва слышное "Дракон, дракон!" пронеслось по толпе. Послышались одобрительные выкрики, приветствия.

За что они только любили этого оборотня? Коронованного недочеловека, недоящерицу — уму непостижимо; на троне сидело животное, дикое, хищное, почему все эти люди…

Юноша проглотил жестокие слова. Тупая боль простреливала лодыжку, сводила его с ума вот уже который час; он был голоден, и, к тому же, вымок и устал. Дракон был... причём, конечно, но любовь к нему его людей не была истинной причиной его злости.

Получеловек остановился, прошуршал по полу его плащ. Дэмиен все не сводил взгляда с радующегося камина. Он знал, что попался. Знал, что так и будет — так и должно было произойти.

Тимоти опустился на колено, и его огненная ладонь накрыла озябшую, все еще влажную ладонь Дэмиена.

— В этот раз далеко, — едва слышно пробормотал дракон.

За окном грохнула молния. В ее отблеске, на периферии, Дэмиен заметил: вымокшая накидка, капающая с волос вода. Дракон искал его под дождем, в непогоду, зная, что у него ни за что не получится уйти.

И смотрел, глаз не отводя. Не замечая, как на них пялятся постояльцы и хозяева таверны.

Дэмиен не ответил ничего — рот склеили гордость, стыд и злость. Он не скинул руки, не перевел на дракона взгляда.

Тот продолжал смотреть на него, словно преданная собака.

— Хочешь остаться на ночь здесь? — так же едва слышно спросил он, ласково поглаживая пальцем начинающую трескаться кожу. — Или мне найти более комфортабельное место?

Дэмиен поджал губы; опомнившийся хозяин тут же подал голос:

— Мы подготовим для вас лучшую комнату! И ванну! И ужин за счет заведения! Для нашего дракона, — щегольнул он фибулой с крылатой ящерицей, — мы не поскупимся. Лучший отдых в "Драконьем яйце", который только возможен!

По толпе пронеслись смешки; название, видно, здесь было частой темой для шуток. Тимоти ничего не ответил, и молчание между ними так затянулось, что Дэмиен нехотя разжал губы:

— Здесь.

Дракон вновь нежно погладил его руку. Он продолжал смотреть, прожигая в Дэмиене своим внимательным взглядом дырку, когда проговорил уже громче, в толпу:

— Все, что вы пообещали, и завтрак. Я оплачу.

Хозяин тут же засуетился, вернулся привычный таверный гомон. Люди поднимали за дракона тосты, словно это их заслугой было его присутствие здесь; затянули песню, зазвенела лира. В неумелом танце закружились несколько пьяниц, выбивая из пола пыль.

С них с драконом уже натекла порядочная лужа, когда хозяин позвал их наверх, все еще излишне суетясь и красуясь; Дэмиен с трудом скинул оцепенение, и Тимоти тут же подскочил, помогая ему подняться.

Юноша метнул на него сердитый взгляд. Столько людей наблюдали за ними и столько поднимали разговоров, что к завтрашнему утру уже вся деревня будет знать, кто был здесь и что делал — каждое их движение — и меньше всего на свете Дэмиен хотел выставить себя слабым в глазах других и еще меньше — позволить дракону на этом сыграть.

Но он не делал этого напоказ. Просто в мире для Тимоти никого другого сейчас не существовало. Сейчас — и вообще.

С очевидным усилием над собой дракон позволил ему пройти один пролет на своих двоих, но, едва рядом никого не осталось, он легким движением подхватил юношу на руки.

— Побереги ногу для другого побега, — шепнул он, и теплое дыхание обдало Дэмиену щеку. Жар его тела пронзил юношу насквозь, согревая до костей, словно наконец-то дождался разрешения. — Я позабочусь о тебе до тех пор.

Дэмиен опустил голову ему на плечо и прикрыл глаза — сам того не желая. Теплота рук, держащих его ладоней, груди дракона так манила его, замерзшего и промокшего, что он не отдавал себе отчета. Того хуже: стоило двери за ними закрыться, а Тимоти опустить его на стул, у юноши из горла вырвался несчастный, просящий звук.

— Я знаю, — тут же нежно шепнул оборотень, словно эта маленькая глупость не была унизительной для принца, — ванна уже готова. Я подогрею ее, а ты переоденься. Как твоя нога?

— Тебе нельзя летать в грозу, — пробормотал Дэмиен, неловко цепляясь за мокрый плащ. Тимоти тут же присел рядом, ласково отцепляя от ткани озябшие руки юноши и сплетая их пальцы.

— Я и не летал, — пообещал он. — От ближайшего города добрался на коне, а по деревне шел пешком. Лошадь сбросила меня, едва показались огни домов. Как твоя нога, родной?

Животные дракона не любили. Люди — обожали, боготворили даже. Дэмиен... до сих пор не знал, что чувствовал. Огненные руки держали его бережно, не давая шанса увильнуть.

— Ноет. Я подвернул ее, когда пробирался по городу. И... уже в таверне.

Губы Тимоти сложились в несчастную, печальную линию. Он утешающе провел ладонями Дэмиену по предплечью, вновь раздавая свою непрошенную нежность.

— Переодевайся, — мягко сказал он, — я подготовлю воду и спущусь за отваром. Я оставлю тебе мазь.

Дэмиен кивнул. Комок в горле не позволил ему сказать, как он был дракону признателен.

Он вымылся, вытерся, переоделся в ночную рубашку и как раз собирался заняться лодыжкой, когда дракон вернулся. Как он каждый раз догадывался, что Дэмиен закончил, юноша не знал. Вероятно так же, как находил, в какие бы дебри он от своего мужа не сбегал.

— Ни одного приличного врача на всю деревню, — едва слышно пробормотал дракон, протягивая отвар. — Пей, родной. Должно убрать боль и воспаление. Дома я смогу позаботиться о тебе лучше, но пока это все, что в моих силах.

Юноша послушно пригубил лекарство; нога перестала так назойливо ныть после горячей воды, но отголосок боли сохранялся в мышцах и обещал напомнить о себе ночью, когда вся таверна будет спать. Он предпочел бы это наказание своей глупости, своему недоверию, своей...

Дракон возился, переодеваясь и вытираясь за ширмой, и Дэмиен мог видеть его спину; он нарочно не отводил взгляда от стены. Лекарство привычно горчило на языке лечебными травами и успокаивало мысли; многие — но не все.

Юноша опустошил стакан как раз когда Тимоти переоделся.

— Позволь мне, — прошептал дракон, забирая мазь; Дэмиен запретил бы, не прогревай прикосновение его рук так волшебно.

Он молчаливо переждал то, как Тимоти изливал на него свою любовь, буквально втирая ее в кожу. Когда бинты, наконец, обернули его ��огу, а дракон вытер руки о ветошь, единственное, чего хотел Дэмиен — уснуть, чтобы предательские мысли прекратили скакать в его голове, как блохи. Он пододвинул к себе стоявшую на прикроватной табуретке тарелку, ощущая, что голод пропал еще до того, как он коснулся первого кусочка. С трудом юноша расправился с ужином, все это время ловя на себе внимательные взгляды своего дракона; стараясь отвлечься от них, он с опозданием понял, что хозяин таверны и правда не поскупился на продукты.

Он только собрался лечь, как Тимоти снова подал голос:

— Я займу место у двери.

Страстно захотелось уточнить: "На полу?", но Дэмиен без вопросов позволил дракону лечь на дальней от окна стороне. Тот расположился на самом почтительном расстоянии, что позволила ему кровать.

С горькой иронией юноша подумал: вот так они и спали — супруги. Скоро будет год их семейной жизни.

Он задул свечи и улегся. В темноте бесчисленных ночей Дэмиен уже выучил, что дракон хорошо видел и без света, и не позволил себе повернуться в его сторону, попытаться во мраке нашарить взглядом его силуэт. В шуме хлещущего за окном дождя он шепнул только:

— Я снова убегу.

— Только после того, как заживёт твоя нога, — тут же откликнулся его муж. И добавил еще мягче: — Пожалуйста.

Дэмиен дождался, когда Тимоти заснёт — заставил себя поверить, что он уснул — и так осторожно как только смог перелёг к нему поближе. Не медля ни секунды, дракон обвил его рукой и притянул к себе вплотную. И съедающие заживо мысли о том, что Дэмиен был кем угодно, но только не подходящим супругом для дракона, умолкли; другие пришли им на смену. Все постепенно предавали его: дед, мать, отец, братья. Отец единственный сделал то немногое, что смог, чтобы искупить свою вину: отдал его замуж за дракона; того, кто не захотел бы и не смог его предать.

Дэмиен продолжал его проверять, зная, что однажды сдастся и перестанет убегать. Что однажды он доверится, что Тимоти его не бросит, и, вероятно, это станет самой большой его...

Дракон дерну��ся, словно услышав его мысли, и стиснул свои объятья крепче. Он прижался к Дэмиену, оборачиваясь вокруг него защитным коконом, и обжигающее его тепло пробрало юношу до костей.

...удачей.

Нога больше не болела. Дождь, если не прекратит к утру, даст повод Тимоти придумать сотни неподобающих его королевскому статусу оправданий остаться в постели ещё на один день, свернувшись в клубок обжигающих объятий.

А если прекратит... Дэмиен мог бы солгать про ногу. Он мог бы придумать достаточно убедительную ложь и сотни бессмысленных и бестолковых оправданий, чтобы задержаться здесь ещё хотя бы на несколько часов.